Mitchel Hunter and the Vietnam War
by Dan Rush
Summary: The backstory of Mitchel "Pop" Hunter and Dan "Tweety" Fokker when they flew Navy F-4 Phantoms during the Vietnam War. The story is based on factual period history and the authors 20 years of naval service. Warning...story has strong verbal content and racist descriptions to match the period of history during the Vietnam Conflict from 1965 to 1973.


_**ROBOTECH FANFICTION**_

" _ **SHOTGUN SIX"**_

 _ **Mitchell Hunter, Dan Fokker and the Vietnam War**_

By Dan Rush (USN retired) and Bibby Rush

ROBOTECH/MACROSS © 1985 by Tatsunoko Productions and Harmony Gold. All rights respected. Non-monetary gain fiction for fan enjoyment only.

Note: This fiction is written to the Vietnam Era 1970 – 1972 and contains graphic swearing, racist epithets and racial violence. It is not the mentality of the authors but keeps with the period history of the Vietnam conflict and the environment of the US Navy during that period.

 **CHAPTER 1**

 **MACROSS CITY**

After the final landing of the SDF-1

Evening

Lisa Hayes picked up the thick photo album with the well worn brown leather cover and giggled at the photo of a naked youngster being chased by a woman in some yard…

"Oh you were so adorable!" She squealed, which caught the attention of the poor victim as he came out of the room with a box and quickly dropped it to snatch the album from her hands.

"And that was my last embarrassing photo moment. You got your wish mom!" Rick Hunter snorted as he held the album to his chest and glared at Lisa.

"Oh God Rick!" Lisa snapped. "Like I'm going to spread this all over the world, the famous ace of Macross was once a toddler. Can't I see what you were like before you became a pain in my ass?"

Rick smirked. "Gee, I thought I was worth more?"

He relented after a little bribery….Rick never passed up a good cooked meal for anything so he sat in the living room next to Lisa and allowed her to pour over the pictures…"You can tell the difference between originals and copies, obviously you had some of these redone."

"Had too." Rick replied. "The older pictures didn't last long over the years. Some of these were back in the days of chemicals, dark rooms and Kodak."

Lisa pointed to one picture. A blonde boy perhaps 13 or 14 pushing a much younger Rick on a swing. "Is that Roy?"

"Yup." Rick replied. "That was a few years after he first came. I think I was five then?"

Lisa then looked at another picture; obviously a redone from an original. "This is older than dirt. I recognize the shape of the plane….that's a Phantom."

Rick nodded. "Uh huh….that's my Dad." He said pointing to one of the two men in the photo.

"Who's the other one?" Lisa asked.

"Roy's father. He and my dad served together in Vietnam."

"Roy never talks about him. I've asked him many times and Claudia has asked him but he just never wants to talk about him."

Rick sighed. "Touchy subject with Roy…see he never got time to know him. His dad was killed over Haiphong during the 1972 Linebacker II campaign. It was a real strain in our family between him and my Dad, though Roy never wants to talk about it. In some ways he blamed my Dad for years but he never took it out on me."

Lisa sighed. "Vietnam…not the best time to talk about. My father was a Junior Flight Officer in Danang then and he wouldn't talk about it at all. Did your father ever talk about it?"

Rick pursed his lips. "Only when it came to my mom and how Dad met her…and a few other stories. My Dad hated war after that….hated the whole Vietnam mess. He left the service because of it and if he had lived long enough to know I had joined the service? Oh he would have been pissed. But a lot of him infected my genes….he was one bad ass mother fucker in a Phantom. He was the only triple ace of the whole war, 15 kills before he quit. The North Vietnamese were so pissed they put a bounty on his head."

Lisa pursed her lips. "You think he could have taken on Myria?"

Rick smirked. "He would have left her pissed off worse than Max ever did that's for sure…

 **May 18, 1972**

 **Yankee Station in the Tonkin Gulf**

Note: It is 1972, The United States has now been at war in Southeast Asia since the Tonkin Gulf incident of 1964. To date, the US has suffered 648 combat deaths since January, 5,723 since the start of the war. May 18th marks the 30th day of North Vietnam's massive "Easter" offensive. It has committed its standing army to a do or die campaign to finally overwhelm and take over South Vietnam as President Richard Nixon continues his process of "Vietnamization" slowing pulling US troops out and placing the burden of defending the South in the hands of a corrupt central government and inadequate military.

The battle of Kontum (Con-toom) rages as the North Vietnamese Army (The NVA) attempt to capture this vital city from the Republican Army of South Vietnam ( The ARE-VIN). Though heavily outnumbered on the ground, the South Vietnamese have massive air support from the United States Air Force and Navy flying from aircraft carriers in the Tonkin Gulf and bases in South Vietnam and Thailand.

The USS Midway (US Aircraft Carrier number 41) has arrived on Yankee Station after being permanently home ported in Yokosuka, Japan…it's not long before she launches her first Alpha strike, a massive surge of her 90 aircraft wing to support the South Vietnamese in Kontum.

 **Yankee Station**

 **0600 hours**

 **May 18, 1972**

 **USS Midway CV-41**

The Sun was just beginning to peep over the Eastern horizon and change the waters around the living machine of steel that glided through them from a deep black to shades of green, turquoise and yellow. The sight distracted the pilot for a moment before he pushed up the throttle handles just enough to get the heavy jet to start moving from its place on the flight deck just opposite of the ship's central control structure (nicknamed "The Island") towards catapult number one on the bow.

The big burley man in the front ejection seat quickly ran through the checklist strapped to his knee, reading off each requirement and setting to his RIO (REE-OH Radar Intercept Officer) and acknowledging him in reply by the two man rule…

"Flaps set to takeoff."

"Flaps set to takeoff"

"Compass setting matching SINS alignment."

"Compass setting matching SINS alignment."

"You're mother's a whore."

"No….you're mother's a bigger whore."

The big pilot laughed. "Just checking to make sure you're not intoxicated."

"And if I was?" His RIO asked.

"I'd fucken eject on launch and you'd be swimming." The pilot returned.

The F-4 Phantom II was assigned to VF-151 Vigilantes, a fighter squadron once based out of Lemoore, California but had now moved permanently to Naval Air Facility Atsugi (Aut-Sue-Gee) in Japan as did the whole of Carrier Air Wing Five and it's mother ship, the Midway. They were now on their fourth combat deployment to Vietnam and this was as hairy as it had ever gotten. Things had gone from "nonsense" to "brush fire" to "holy mother fucken shit pa it's a waaah over yonder!" and that meant plenty of targets and plenty of combat pay.

The heavy fighter slowly rolled over the catapult shuttle pad and came to a stop in the thick cloud of steam broiling out of the track that pointed to the end of the ship. Now a crew of four sailors ran under the Phantom; two of them to attach a tow cable or bridle on two steel hooks under the belly of the fighter, draping the center of the cable around the launch shuttle on the deck. The other two men attached another cable "the tensioner" to a block on the phantom and to a slot on the "cat track" should the catapult misfire, it was hoped that this cable would arrest the beast until the pilot could crank down the throttles and set the brakes. Otherwise, the crew was going swimming in the shark infested South China Sea.

The plane director or "Yellow Shirt" passed off control of the Phantom to the catapult officer who now went through the steps required to send the plane aloft. He threw his right arm up into a balled fist and the pilot pulled a handle that locked the Phantom's tall nose gear strut in place with air pressure to prevent it being damaged by the violence of the coming cat shot.

The pilot watched the "Cat Officer" or "Shooter" go through his paces…"Check weight, Check pressure, set tension…."

The Phantom lurched as the cat shuttle pulled forwards, tightening the launching cable and locking into position like a slide of a pistol being "racked" with a bullet in the chamber. Now the shooter threw his hand in the air and extended all his fingers….the signal for full afterburner or "Zone 5". The pilot pushed the throttles all the way to their stops and set the "AB switch" to the full open setting.

Now the beast was in her primal setting. Both engines were at maximum power, sending sheets of blue hot flame flying against and over the top of the catapult jet blast deflector. The monster was shuddering, coiled like a maniac cat ready to tear something apart. The Cat officer made one more scan around for safety sake, saluted the pilot and dove for the deck. His fingers touched the steel then were thrown forward in a crisp, sharp motion.

At the catapult controls, the sailor manning the dial board looked every gauge over one final time and dropped his hand over the large red button…

The catapult released thousands of pounds of hot steam in a single violent explosion and 20,000 pounds of Navy combat jet surged down the deck, off the end of the ship and into the morning air…

"Four Zero Six airborne!" Came the radio call from the squadron senior deck chief confirming that Vigilante Phantom number 406 was off the deck and climbing for altitude.

The pilot of "Shot Gun Six" (The call sign for the Vigilante's and the last two number identifier from 406) was senior squadron Lieutenant Mitchell "Pop" Hunter. Born in 1940 in Goliad, Texas; Mitch was the son of pilots. His grandfather was a World War I Spad pilot in France who went into crop dusting after he came back. His father was a Navy aviator in World War II who received the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Medal of Honor for his courage during the desperate battle of Samar off Leyte in the Philippines in 1944. You had to have steel balls and be crazy to attack the Battleship Yamato with nothing but middle fingers and wrenches, when the bombs were exhausted…Mitch's dad let the Japanese Sailors have it with his friggen tool box. Insanity was a Hunter trait.

He was infected with flying cancer starting as 7yo when he'd go up with his Grandfather over the Texas plains in his old two seater. Mitchel solo'd at 10…illegally…then promptly got arrested at 11 for dive bombing a city councilman's car after the stuck up bastard refused to let Mitch date his daughter. Chasing girls and wise assery was also a cancer on the Hunter genes.

But because his father was a super bad ass "Jap smacker" with flying wrenches, Mitch was accepted to the Naval Academy in 1958 and graduated second in his class in 1961. When he was handed his dream sheet for assignments, he simply wrote across the whole sheet…."Planes, fighters, anything that goes super fast." He went to basic flight school in Pensacola Florida, got kicked out for being so smart that he was board and got into trouble, got "Dad" to promptly destroy the Commanding Officer, got back in and graduated onto advanced training for fighters at Corpus Christi Texas in 1963…

And that's where he met…."Tweety".

Dan Fokker was as different from Mitch as night and day. Born in 1943, he'd been sort of a momma's boy most of his life and a strait "A" student in both grades and behavior. He was told often that he was connected to German royalty by Barron Fokker the legendary German aviation architect and his mother steered him to excel in math. He graduated from High School as its valedictorian and in the year book he was voted "most likely to succeed"

After High School he could have gone on to Clemson or some Ivy League School but instead he visited the Navy recruiter to escape the draft. Dan didn't like the idea of being "selectively" chucked into the infantry and thought perhaps being a pilot was the way to go. However for all his smarts from K-12 it didn't cut enough to get him accepted as "pilot material" but it did qualify him for JFO "Junior Flight Officer" which the recruiter said was just as equal in pay and opportunities as a navy pilot. He'd also get to go through four years of college. Dan attended Washington State "WAZU" in 1960 and went through the Navy JOTC at NAS Whidbey Island. In 1963 he found himself going through RIO (Radar Intercept Officer) school in where else? Corpus Christy Texas.

And that's where the two met. Half way through training they both got their orders to an F-4 RAG outfit, a fleet training squadron which finalized crews and pilots for the particular aircraft they would fly or crew. Two man crews (F-4 Phantoms and A-6 Intruders) back in the 1960's were paired up at Corpus and served together until advancing rank and greater duties pulled them apart. The school would throw crews together based on their records and evaluate their qualities to see if the match was good or not.

The day when Mitchel and Dan were paired up…it was like putting a small cat with a large dog in a closed lid trash can and running your ass off. They were sitting in the classroom and just bolt out of the blue….Mitchel turned to Dan and said with a serious smirk…"Hey there Tweety? You wanna shack up?"

Dan snapped his head at Mitch and in a monotone shocked voice said…"What the fuck did you just call me?"

"I was just asking…."Tweety"…..if you wanted to pair up? Sheesh man, you need to tone down that flaming wig of yours. I heard of golden blonde but fuck you're blinding. Hey! There's your call sign! Tweety!"

Dan frowned. "I got your Tweety wise ass."

Mitchel then stood up before the whole class and pointed to Dan. "Hey guys! I got this guy's call sign….meet "Tweety Bird"

Dan shot from his chair. "You better shut that fucken trap of yours shit for brains!"

Mitch turned his head with a shit eating smile at Dan and the fight was on. The officers in the room cleared out as chairs flew, fists connected and the two brawlers carried their war into the hallway until the MP's came to cuff them both.

Needless to say the Commanding Officer wasn't amused. "Well gentlemen? Want to explain to me how this act of stupid bull shit got started?"

Dan snapped to attention. "Sir! Lieutenant Hunter called me "Tweety" and told everyone that would be my call sign! I hate that name sir! And I hate the Lieutenant! Request NOT to be paired with him Sir!"

The skipper snorted at Hunter. "Lieutenant? You got something to say about this?"

"Yes sir!" Mitchel replied. "My father always told me sir that if I were to pick someone to partner with me, that man should possess high intelligence, be shorter than me, show no fear and have quick reflexes. Lieutenant Fokker is one bad mother fucker…I want him!"

"Well I don't want you!" Dan snapped.

The Captain shook his head. "Well too bad Lieutenant Fokker…you're stuck with Hunter. As for "Tweety"….stop being a little crying bitch and accept it. Both of you get the fuck out of my office and please….don't fight on the post if you want to kill each other?"

The relationship was rocky at first but for some reason Dan started to like his larger and crazier pilot and somehow the chemistry flowed like water. They left Corpus together in 1965 and were assigned to the F-4 RAG in California and that's where Mitch remarked in a weird way…"We had great sky sex."

The Phantom fit Mitchel like a glove, he loved "The ugly beast" for its raw power. Originally designed to hunt and kill Soviet bombers over the polar cap and Canada; the Phantom was now being used in Southeast Asia in ways no one expected…

Vietnam had been simmering in the back burner since Eisenhower sent the first advisors in 1958 and now the Vietnamese had gone and gotten stupid. The USS Maddox had been attacked by patrol boats out of Haiphong and a day later they had tried to hit the USS Turner Joy. Now the US was in a full blown fight with a communist insurgency trying to destroy the people of South Vietnam and all Mitch understood at the time as he and Dan tore through California in the summer of 1966….the North Vietnamese were all Commies and all Commies just needed to fucken die. Fuck them!

The pair departed the RAG for VF-87 based aboard the USS Saratoga in January 1967 and they got their first taste of combat in Vietnam the following year…the day the North Vietnamese made a shit sandwich called the Tet Offensive. Mitch and Dan flew strike missions against the NVA in Hue and "Khe San" and on January 23, 1968….Mitchel bagged his first Communist MIG.

By March of 1968, Mitchel had bagged his fifth MIG near Han Loc North Vietnam, a MIG 21 Fishbed II and by the last line period before the Saratoga departed for California, he bagged his tenth MIG , a MIG 17 Fresco, over Haiphong. Both the Navy and the North Vietnamese realized to their shock that the wild thrown together chemistry between a techno-nerd and a bearish brute wise ass was fricken dangerous. Other Navy pilots were doing abysmally in the air against the Vietnamese, which Hunter pointed out was due to them being "Race baiter cock suckers and overconfident "America proud" fucktards."

Mitch wasn't afraid of any rank. One Admiral named "Elmo" who'd become the future Chief of Naval Operations in 1972 asked Mitchel why he was so hateful, having written an article in Naval Proceedings Magazine about the current mental retardation of Naval pilots…Mitch replied…

" _All I hear from some of these punks is "those little monkey Dinks, gooks, slopes and "Gomers". Well look at what calling the Japanese "Japs" did for us at Pearl Sir. I may hate Communism but I sure as hell will respect the enemy pilots, they're just as good as we are without all the electronics and missiles and treating them like animals is a sure way to get your fool fucken head shot off. We Americans need to be humbled often or we'll sooner or later be fucken killed off by the people we belittle as "niggers, spicks and yellow monkies."_

Dan started looking at Mitch as the older brother he never had and he was right that the studious Fokker need to be more open and less anal. It was a good thing every now and then to get stupidly drunk and stupidly in trouble…like the time in Yokosuka Japan when Mitch stole the duty car and ended up parking it at the bottom of the public pool. He just so happened to have camera along for the ride sealed up in a sandwich bag and took a fucked up photo of him and Dan in the front seats. No one would ever know about it….till drunk Mitchel took the film role to the base photographer to get developed. The Skipper didn't know if he should kill the both of them or change his fucken pants from laughing so hard.

 **Yankee Station**

 **0630 hours, 32,000 feet**

 **May 18, 1972**

 **USS Midway Alpha Strike for KonTun**

Mitchel was leading a strike flight towards Kon Tun. As a senior Lieutenant on the verge of "El Kadar" or Lieutenant Commander" and the most experienced combat pilot in the air wing it was his job to take the "nobs" or newest pilots on their first few hops to gain experience; especially the strike pilots who might be called soon to fly in the far more dangerous air spaces over the North.

The strike was composed of Mitch's Phantom "Shotgun Six" from VF-151. Two other Phantoms from VF-161 "The Red Rockers" (Stone Two and Stone Seven). Three A-7 Corsair II's from VA-56 "The Champs" (Boxers four, six and eight) and three A-6-A Intruders from VA-115 (Arabs four, nine and two).

All of the jets except the Rockers were armed with a mix of Mark 82 500 pound bombs, Three point five inch rocket pods, Sidewinder missiles and Rockeye II APAM (Anti armor/anti personnel) cluster bombs. Mitchel switched his radio from air call to ground control call and keyed the mic in his mask…

" _Gatack, Gatack (GCI Ground Control Instruction)….."Buster One" this is "Snoopy 41"_ (call sign for air support group off USS Midway) _inbound package_ _at 30,000 feet; state your situation over?"_

The Ground Controller, A US Marine pilot with the 2nd Marine Brigade attached to the 37th South Vietnamese Army Infantry regiment replied…

" _Snoopy…37_ _th_ _holding the Francis Bridge north of the city. We are under pressure from an NVA armored/infantry regiment across the Ho Lan river! T-62 tanks backed by missile packing MBP's_ _have wasted three "Are-van" M-48's and are getting set up to surge the span. Request you concentrate on the far side, 500 yards across and 100 yards deep….over!"_

Mitch gave a quick reply and set his radio back to air call…."Ok you newbies. Rockers will stay up here at 30,000 and wagon wheel in case the NVA call in their cousins from Phuc Tien (The closest North Vietnamese fighter base…the Americans called it "Fuck Them") The rest of us will clobber the other side of the Francis Bridge. Me and Tweety will go first to mark the target. Watch for the "triple A", don't go below 8,000 feet and don't stay too long. You go in, drop and jink like crazy on the way out."

Mitch then called out to Boxer four…"boxer….you, six and eight will go in after us. I want you guys to watch out for any "Grails" (NATO call sign for the Grail 7 man held anti-aircraft missile which the Soviets began giving the North Vietnamese in 1972) you see one come up? Jump in quick and pound the location."

Boxer four replied. "Affirmative."

Mitchel reached down on his aircraft gauge board, touched the stores selection knob and turned to "CBU" (Cluster Bonb Unit) then selected the drop delay switch to 100 mili-seconds. That meant that after the first bomb, every bomb following in sequence after that would be dropped off the Phantom's bomb racks at 100 millisecond intervals. He then selected the number he wanted to drop on the first pass….3. Then he switched his HUD, the glass information display above the dial board, from "Air to Air" to "Air to Ground" attack mode and looked beyond the canopy glass to see the coast of South Vietnam rapidly coming into focus.

"Huntress….Shotgun Six leading Snoopy 41 inbound air support to Kon Tun. Feet dry." Mitch said in his mask mic to the orbiting E-2 Hawkeye radar plane that was coordinating inbound and outbound military air traffic through the South Vietnamese battle space.

"Shotgun Six, Huntress affirmative feet dry. Be aware of Marine air assets at work in the target zone. Cobra's at "five aut aut", Intruders between "Five Aut Aut" and "Five Aut Aut Aut". "Are-vin" aircraft between "two Aut Aut" and "Two Aut Aut Aut"….over"

"Rodger Huntress." Mitchel replied as he could now make up the smoke from ground fights erupting all over the ground North of the city of Kon Tun. "Anything on your scope coming down from the North Tweety?" Michel asked Dan as he was busy looking at his own display and dial board. Dan's job was simple…keep Mitchel focus on flying and not on Surface to Air missiles or enemy aircraft. Dan handled the second set of eyes critical for the Phantom's success and for their continued survival. And he was damn good at his work.

"Nothing." Dan replied. The biggest worry at the moment was the damn Grail missile. The Soviet Grail 7 was a sneaky little prick unlike its "loud and proud" cousin the SA-2 Guideline. Where the big Soviet SAMs had accompanying radar and fire control sites that "pinged" "Zinged" and squeeled "I'm fucken over here ass hole." On the ECM threat discriminators, the Grail gave off no such signature. By itself it couldn't bring down a jet but it could make one's day over South Vietnam very unpleasant.

Michel checked his ejection seat straps again and removed all the slack from the harness belts. He checked the altitude again and prepared to dive his "beast" towards the target area, a square on a map at the mouth of the Francis Bridge…"Keep your eyes looking for those Grails Tweety….we're going in hot."

"Welcome to Six Flags Vietnam…if you are not this tall to ride this ride….too fucken bad." Tweety said as he tightened his own straps.

Michel keyed the air mic again…."Ok flight. I'm going in hot. Arabs you follow after us, then the Champs. Remember to kill your throttles before you go into the run and let the plane aim your bombs…good hits and keep your eyes sharp for any Grails. Call em if you see em."

At 30,000 feet over the Republic of Vietnam, as "Are-vin" troops were desperately trying to hold the Francis Bridge from an advancing North North Vietnamese armored brigade; the American pilot the North Vietnamese propagandists and Hanoi Jane Fonda called "Doe ooh Dien Mah Pook kuwa" or "the orphan maker" cut the throttles of his Phantom back to zero, pushed the control stick forwards and the big fighter dipped downwards in a dead engine 45 degree dive over Kon Tun.

Mitchel would do what's called "The pirate ship roll" an ode to the carnival boat pendulum ride. He was falling at the aircraft's natural terminal velocity unaided by the Phantom's powerful J-58 engines. The controlled terminal decent would allow for better accuracy as the aircraft streaked towards bomb release at 9,000 feet above the ground. At that point Mitchel would drop or "pickle" three Mark 20 Rockeye cluster bombs, pull back the stick, push the throttles to afterburner and the Phantom would rocket up to 18,000 feet. When it reached the top of the arc, Mitchel could pull the Phantom back, roll it over and go back through the whole process again.

The three bombs Mitchel was getting ready to give to their Communist Vietnamese receivers were actually clamshells held together by steel bandings. The three bombs would fall from 9,000 feet to 500 feet above their target and then break apart to shower the opposition with softball sized bomblets. The resulting carnage would eviscerate tanks, armored vehicles and turn men into hamburger. Down below them, the "NVA" (People's Liberation Army of the Democratic (laughing) Republic of North Vietnam) caught the glint of the sun bouncing off the paint of the American fighter and turned their attention from the South Vietnamese to let loose everything on Shotgun Six.

"A rock just flew by the window." Dan said as he looked carefully at the onrushing earth. "You're doing good Mitch…."

Mitchel was thinking in his own mind, counting down as he bounced his eyes between the HUD "pipper" (The representation of an aiming crosshitr) and the altimeter…

"Twenty K…..Eighteen K…..Ten K…Nine K….Nine K 500…no Grails, lots of medium calibers….Eight K!" Mitchel mashed the red button on his control stick as the Phantom passed eight thousand feet and three Rockeye cluster bombs fell away from the plane!

"Pulling up, Throttles up!" Mitchel said into his mask mic as the big jet rolled through the bottom of the arc and shot like a rocket back up to bombing altitude. Mitchel rolled the plane around on the nose and threw it wildly about both to defeat the enemy gunners below and any potential attempts to shoot a missile at it.

Dan craned his head around his shoulder to try and see the impacts as the Rockeyes passed their burst altitude, split open and unleashed their "bomblets" at the foot of Francis Bridge. Dan saw a Soviet made T-62 tank just melt as the anti-armor bomblets turned it into a blow torch.

"Arab four's in hot!" Mitch head in his radio that while his plane was nearing the top of the arc; an A-6 Intruder from VA-115 was running in to drop his bombs.

" _Snoopy! FAC 37…good hit! The burning tank at the foot of the bridge has stalled the assault. I have four…say again five sam pans to the West of the bridge about "75 mike" (3/4 of a mile) attempting a forge!"_

"Mitch! I got the little fuckers!" Arab Two called as the Intruder passed under Mitch's Phantom as it seemed to hang at the top of the cut the throttles again and the Phantom began its second bombing run. "Flak's coming up heavy Dan…looks like every one down there has a rifle or a pistol….or maybe a hammer? That would be fricken ridiculous, some poor Vietnamese chucks a hammer and it sticks us up the intake?"

Dan smirked. "You just cause people to loose their minds. If you ever have kids, I pity the world. Watch the ten o' clock, looks like they got a "heavy A" down there someplace…probably a radar 4 gunner."

"I see it." Mitchel replied. "Champ six" take that out."

"Rodger!" Champ Six replied as Dan saw him roll onto his back and make an inverted dive on the target just as Mitchel pulled back on his stick and pulled the Phantom out of it's own dive.

"Arab two off! Smoke check 3!" The Arab Intruder that went after the sampans full of NVA called out as mitch caught a glimpse of the Rockeyes exploding over the river and whatever was under their carnage…"Stupid idiots. Sending men out in vulnerable boats with bomber in the air. Hope the man in charge gets fucken shot!"

"Arab nine in hot!" Came a radio call from another Intruder down below making a run on the ground near the bridge. As Mitchel rolled over the top of his arc again, a frantic call suddenly screamed over the radio. "FUCK! WE'RE HIT! WE'RE HIT! SON OF A BITCH!"

Mitchel pulled the Phantom over to see "Arab Nine" trailing flame and smoke from its right side and trying to climb out of range from whatever hit it.

"Arab Nine! What's your "sit-chew" and who hit you?" Mitch called.

"Mother fucker! Grail shooter in the tree line just across the road from the bridge intersection. Fuck! Right engine hit…"

Michel selected six on his bomb drop knob and swung the nose about to put the aiming reticle over the spot where he thought the cock sucker would be. Six Rockeye cluster bombs would cover more than enough…the little fucker wasn't getting away and to show he had balls…Mitch saw a stream of smoke fly from the treeline!

"Wanna play games ass hole?" Mitch snorted as he rolled the Phantom about the nose and blew flares from his ECM bucket.

"Fuck yeah! E ticket to hell! Riveting!" Dan yelled as he strained to keep control against the G-forces pressing against his body….

"Hack this cock sucker!" Mitchel snarled as he hit the pickle button and sent 6 Rockeyes screaming for the trees. "Doom on you Mister Chucky!"

The six deadly bombs unleashed their can of hell as Mitchel screamed over the top of the trees at 2,000 feet. "Arab Nine, I got the fucker…how you doing?"

"No right engine, hydraulics are sluggish, the fires out but we're bleeding fuel, I shit my damn pants but otherwise? Oh yeah Shotgun 6…I'm just fucken peachy."

Mitch changed his frequency…"Rocker Two, you present?"

"Damn it Mitch." Red Rocker two replied. "Can't you see I'm fucken jacking off?"

"Stow the Playboy and get down here Kelly. Arab Nine's been a-holed and I have to check him out." Mitchel replied as he increased his engine output and joined Arab Nine as it hobbled along trailing light grey smoke. "Hey Arab Nine? You're trailing gray….a good sign you got the fire in the right engine under control for now. If I were you pal I'd get rid of the rest of your bombs?"

As Mitchel slid the Phantom up next to the Intruder, the bomber jettisoned the remaining bombs and stores except for the centerline drop tank. "What's your fuel state?"

"Uh….Danang….like right now." The Intruder pilot said as he looked at Mitch from his cockpit. "Can you fly around and check us out? The stick is a little loose, the rudder controls sluggish, she's flying like a pissy woman on the rag if you get the drift."

"Dan?...give the plane a good look over while I fly us around the world?" Mitchel would concentrate on slowly flying the Phantom about the Intruder so Dan could describe the damage that it took…

"Well your right engine compressor is visible….half the engine bay door is gone…the right side of the inboard wing is peppered with holes…in board leading edge flap has holes in it… and you're bleeding blood."

The Intruder pilot shook his fist in the canopy glass…"Loosing hydraulics…another fun day in the fun park of Vietnam."

"Well you're not up in the North so be thankful "Cherry"." Mitch said to remind the pilot of his newbie status.

"Got your cherry." The Intruder pilot replied.

Mitch looked at his gauges. "I don't see anything wrong with a little visit to Danang, do you Tweety?"

"Not if you're buying." Dan replied.

"How about it guys? Beer on me in Danang?" Mitch asked the A-6 crew. "I'll stay with you till you get "broke dick" down on the ground."

"Yeah…we're cool with that." The Intruder pilot replied. "I don't dare test the landing gear though….not yet."

 **Air Control Tower**

 **US Air Base, Danang South Vietnam**

Lieutenant Marty Hayes lifted his head up slowly over the lip of his control panel and scanned about the grounds beyond the tower before breathing again…"Fucken gooks." He snapped. "Oh don't worry Lieutenant…G2 section says the Cong rocket threat has been neutralized…well some silly bastard forgot to tell the gooks!"

Rocket attacks by the VietCong "VC or Charlie for short" had been an ongoing road show in Danang since 1964. The only time the Cong did not rocket the base was when Bob Hope showed up with Rochelle Welsh, Julie Neymar or some other Hollywood bust heavy broad…hey, even Charlie had to jack off every so often. Hayes though it a sight of hilariousness if twenty or so Viet Cong were fighting over their optical sights to "jack it" over Ann Margaret.

Hayes was so preoccupied with his study of the sexual activities of Vietnamese Communist Insurgents that he disregarded the calls over his radio…

"Hello? Will someone in Danang please pick up the phone? Avon calling." Mitch's voice came over the radio. "Hello?"

Hayes snapped out of his impromptu college course and grabbed his headset. "This is an official military radio channel whomever you are and may I remind you that inappropriate conversations or communications…"

"Yeah, yeah blah fucken blah…right now I don't care. I have a wounded A-6 Intruder in need of a landing like last year…how about a status check if you don't mind?"

"We just came under a Vietcong rocket attack not five minutes ago." Hayes said as he scanned around the field with his binoculars. "They could still be loitering about with small arms, landing right night is highly inadvisable. Base regulations require that in the case of rocket or mortar attack, all aircraft shall divert to Lon Bin….over."

Mitchel snorted to Dan. "This guy's a "Cad freshie" you can tell." Cad Freshie was an officer right out of Annapolis, one who was so tight assed with regulations that he forgot how to breath…

"Look here Sir." Mitch said in a calm voice. "Be it as inadvisable as you say, that situation can not be helped at the moment as this Intruder next to me is way to beyond screwed up to take a carrier landing, is bleeding fluid like a whore on a rag and from the looks of the smoke is a fireball waiting to happen. Now I'm going to shepherd this thing in to you guys and I hope you'll be there with the fire trucks to keep this plane from blowing up with the crew. Now if you do not accomplish this simple task? I suggest you put on your best track shoes and start running because when I get out of this Phantom? I WILL kick your sorry ass right to hell…..capeesh?"

Dan was laughing…"Gee…very diplomatic there Pop."

"Fuck diplomacy." Mitchel snorted.

After a moment of quiet, Hayes replied. "Winds from the right at 5, beware of small arms on the inbound final. Emergency vehicles will stand by….good luck."

Mitch called over to Arab Nine. "There…you're all set guys, I will go in with you. I didn't happen to ask for names."

The pilot of the Intruder waved. "I'm Lieutenant Marty Sidlowski or "Sit down" and this here is Rufus Grant or "Knuckles".

"Knuckles?" Mitchel asked as he watched the bigger "B/N", a black guy, wave.

"Yeah boss." Grant replied. "I've been "hacked" three times for fighting. Usually I knuckle people in the mouth and they don't punch back."

"You both married?" Mitch asked.

The Intruder pilots looked at each other and smirked. "We're on our honeymoon."

They laughed as both jets turned for the downwind leg of Danang. "Grant is…I'm still happily single…cept for girls in the P.I. (Olongapo, Philippines) and Thailand."

Grant clicked his mic. "Not afraid to say this Sir but right now I'm scared as hell. I have a new daughter I haven't seen yet."

Mitchel nodded. "No problem shipmate, you just trust us….we'll make sure you get home. We're coming up on the final so keep your eyes open on the ground for small arms. When you stop that jet, you get unbuckled and haul ass out of there because you'll be perfect rocket fodder for Chucky. Got that?"

Both jets now turned onto the final approach line for Danang at five miles out with Mitch holding his Phantom above and 50 yards behind Arab Nine. "Dan? Keep your eyes to the ground and tell me if you spot any shooters."

"There's not much you can really do Pop. Unfortunately though….if you kinda forgot? We're still carrying like six Rockeyes?"

"Nothing like living dangerously." Mitch remarked as he looked ahead at the tail of Arab Nine. "You're looking good guys…the smoke's white now and we don't have much left just keep her steady…gears down all the way from here."

Marty replied. "I've got down and locked on the board. Holy shit, I didn't get your names dude."

"Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker" Mitch replied. They were closer now, about a mile out and 900 feet off the ground and in what should have been a cleared out buffer zone guarded by machine guns on the perimeter fence of the air base. Problem was….the towers where the guns were had not been re-occupied yet after the last rocket attack and the Vietcong took the advantage when they saw the American planes coming in for a landing. A squad of nine Vietnamese raised their AK-47's and waited for the right moment to cut loose on the smoking Intruder…

"HOLY FUCK!" Marty snapped into his radio as sparks popped off the "Donkey dick" refueling probe on the nose and shards of fiber exploded from the nose radome! "Got shooters! Got shooters!"

Mitchel hit the throttles and kicked the Phantom into a tight turn enough to give Dan a quick look at the ground below as the fighter roared around and started a combat climb…"I see em! Big fucken group near the fence line!"

Mitch looked down to see a renewed fire pouring from the damaged engine of the Intruder. "Marty! They lit you up again! Get that fucken jet on the ground!"

"Tell me something I don't know Mitch!" Marty replied as he all but crash landed the heavy jet onto the end of the runway and blew his tires apart from the shock! "Four wheeling in an A-6 in Vietnam…..fucken riveting!"

"If we live through this man I swear I'll punch your fucken puss!" Big Rufus screamed as he gripped the "Jesus handle" on the canopy frame. "Stop this bitch!"

"Got no hydraulics left to stop!" Marty screamed as he grabbed the canopy ejection handle and blew the back sliding frame and glass off the airplane! "We're gonna have to jump out!"

"What a way to get shore leave." Grant snapped as he released his ejection seat harnesses and in one fluid jerk threw himself over the edge of the cockpit and somehow avoided both the wing and the pylon stations as the plane flew over his falling body…

Marty soon joined him and by good grace they hit the ground that had been softened by the recent monsoon rains. As they stumbled to their feet and paired up, both of them watched the poor Intruder come to a sinking stop in the mud, the fire once again going out…

"Nice…that went very well don't you think?" Marty asked Rufus.

"Yeah…I wanna do that again. Rufus replied. Then a Vietcong rocket slammed into the damaged plane and blew it to bits! Both pilots got thrown back onto their butts…

"Ride's not over yet!" Marty screamed. "RUN YOU STUPID BASTARD!"

Dan could just barely see the two A-6 pilots running for their lives as the Phantom passed five thousand feet. "Son of a bitch the Cong are shooting rockets again!"

Mitchel snorted as he reached for the armaments switch and selected a station and 3 rockeyes. "Point me to the nearest launcher…..fucken creeps."

"Wait!" Dan yelled. "You're gonna Rockeye Danang?!"

"Trust me…" Mitch snapped. "The smart people are long gone by now….only the idiots are staying behind to die now call out the location! Eight…..nine….ten….eleven and flipping into attack!" Mitch hit the speed brakes, flipped the Phantom onto its back, pulled the nose towards the ground and dove the fighter at terminal velocity…."Come on Tweety! Be quick!"

Dan strained to sit up in the ejection seat…."Up….up…..up…left…..left…..up….HACK!"

Mitchel mashed his pickle button and sent three cluster bombs slamming into a block of buildings just on the edge of the so called "cleared zone" before the fence line of Danang. The sight of secondary explosions going off after the clusters did were indications that the intended target(s) for destruction had been hit and hit good.

"Good shot Pops!" Dan yelped. "From the secondaries down there…we must have hit the rocket mother load!"

Suddenly the radio cracked. "Navy Phantom…you are ordered to land at once! I say again…land at once! Commander Danang's exact words are…"That fucker comes down or I will shoot that fucker down! Un-quote."

Mitchel replied. "Shotgun Six will comply with the Commanding Officer…..out."

 **Chapter 2**

 **Office of the Commanding General, USAB Danang South Vietnam**

 **Marine Major General Arthur McBragg**

 **Afternoon May 18, 1972**

The burley Marine General did not look enthused. Mitchel looked at the man's desk and noted the collection of beer challenging coins carefully displayed on holders around the edges of the desk top. One coin caught his interest…the one that said in big letters "The Chosen Few." Obviously this was one of the Marines who survived the Chosen River march in 1950 under Brigadier General Chesty Puller. Mitch made a careful mental note as the General turned to look at the Navy pilots.

"I must compliment you on your precise aiming there Lieutenant…at least you managed to keep the destruction within a city block."

Dan cracked a smile. "We aim to please Sir."

The General was not impressed. "You shut your trap Mister. I don't know who in hell you Sailors think you are but Danang is MY God damn authority, not yours! You know how many angry calls I've had in the last hour? The Ambassador in Saigon, The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the White House chief of Staff and one really pissed off member of the South Vietnamese Parliament who's house you wasted along with a cherry red 57 Chevy!"

Mitchel groaned. "Oh wow, one man's stupid car for the lives of two men."

"That right you dumb bastard!" The General snarled. "You were told by my control tower, mine since this is MY fucken base, that the runway was still closed and you were to defer to Lon Bin but oh no "fuck the orders" you chose to do…

"I chose to do so general because two of the men I was personally responsible for on a strike mission to cover some of your fellow Marines north in Kon Ton got ass holed by a VC grail missile and they had to land like "de de fucken mau!" and for a base which supposedly is under your control, you certainly have no control over the God damned Viet Cong who almost killed MY men!"

"I know my limits mister!" The General snapped back. "You dropped a load of Rockeye cluster bombs in a residential area of people we're desperately trying to win over to our side you idiotic dumb fuck…"

Just then a Marine Corporal came through the door. "Sir!"

"What! Can't you see I'm engaged here!?"

Dan snickered. "Gee, he loves you Pop."

"Fuck you, you little weasel!" The General snarled before turning back to the Corporal. "What is it Marine?"

"G-2 just radio'd this report from the bombing strike outside the fence." The man said as he handed the General a piece of paper.

"Thank you Marine….that's all." The General said as he stood silently looking at Mitchel for a moment and took a breath…."Guess what Lieutenant? Fortunately your strike didn't kill any civilians but it did expose an interesting detail. That South Vietnamese Parliament minister I was mentioning has just been arrested by the police. When the fire services went through his house they found a mother load of weapons, documents, maps and American cash. And in that "cherry 57" you blew to bits? A load of VC rockets."

Dan smiled. "Lieutenant Hunter has a keen sense of things Sir. He wouldn't have dropped ordinance if he felt that only the bad guys would get whacked."

The general nodded. "I seem to owe you a little apology…but not for violating regulations and orders no matter what the situation. You took a daring chance with your own career mister but if it was to save the lives of your men? Sometimes regulations can be an impediment. But please…..please…..notify the tower for advice before you go dropping any more shit storms around my base?"

Mitch decided to play his card. "One of the Chosen Few….in your case Sir? I will certainly make sure that future incidents are control'd. You have my deepest respect."

"Yeah right….get out of my sight you fucken lying squid." The General punched Mitch in the shoulder. Both Mitch and Dan walked out of the base command building still in their flight suits.

"Shit Pops. It's hot and I've got ball soup…what now? Are we going back to the ship?" Dan asked as they walked and flagged down a passing bus.

"We're going to the Comm center to message them that we took some battle damage covering Arab Nine and that the estimated time of repair will be half a day." Mitch replied.

"But….we didn't take any damage?" Dan asked.

"Tsk….tsk…Tweety? Have you ever heard of a hammer and chisel?" Mitch snickered evilly.

" **The O Club"**

 **US Air Base Danang South Vietnam**

 **7pm**

After some "modifications" to their F-4 Phantom, Mitch and Dan walked into the O Club in their Khaki work uniforms and caught site of the two pilots from Arab Nine at a table having dinner. "Did you enjoy your welcome to Danang" Dan asked the two officers as he and Mitch took seats.

Rufus got up and shook Mitch's hand. "Man, I want to thank you for being with us the whole way and for jumpin on those VC fools. I was sure we were done."

"That's what shipmates do." Mitch replied. "After all…a father should be there when his children grow up. So when did you become a dad?"

"Four days ago." Rufus replied. "I put in for leave after the last line period is over." A line period was the number of assigned days a carrier spent on Yankee Station at any one time, normally 20 combat days per period. The Midway would have three more before she went home to Japan.

"Like I told you, Dan's married. Has a son too…kid's a real looker." As if Dan needed prodding to show off his 4 year old son. "Roy's named after my grandfather, takes after him too the little girl chaser."

Rufus moaned. "We haven't got a name for our yet…wife's all into the big "Return to Africa" deal and the "Black Power" movement. Wants her to have an African name. Man, I am tired of all that "pride" garbage. People want me to feel down forever because of slavery…so bull shit."

Mitch sighed. "Race riots are a big problem right now in the fleet, I'm shocked the Midway hasn't seen any yet."

"And you won't." Rufus replied. "Because of "EX-OH" Morrell. Let some fool start that crap and don't see if the XO don't take him back to the stern plate for an ass whoopin."

On a carrier, the executive officer was the equal to a judge and the police chief of a small city and "Dark Irons" Frank Morrell was intolerant of disobedience from any person no matter who they were. Only a week before deployment there had been an outbreak of near racial violence in the ship's jet engine shop. The 6 foot 3 tall black officer walked in, selected two of the miscreants at random both black and white and kicked their asses promptly as a warning to the rest…."Don't FUCK with me!" He screamed as he departed. Ship's potential problem solved.

Rufus snorted. "I just don't understand man….sometimes my own people leave me crying. If you want to "overcome"? You get off your ass and work for it. My grandfather was a slave as child and by the time he was 40 he had a law practice in piedmont, New Hampshire…now what black man would live in a po dunk place like Piedmont?"

They all laughed. "So then my father was in the navy. Sure back in World War II and Korea the Navy wasn't kind at all to us black folks but did my father sit and cry? Oh hell no, made Master Chief off his own hands. And he beat my ass black and blue with those hands.."You better make something good of yourself boy or don't you ever come home to this house!" he said….now I'm flying planes over Vietnam getting my black ass shot at with this goofy mother fucker."

Marty Sidlowski chuckled…"So why didn't you guys go back to the ship?"

"We took ground fire." Dan said.

"Hammer and chisel" Mitch said.

"Bird strike." Dan said.

"Hammer and chisel." Mitch said.

"Hammer and chisel." Dan said.

"He's fucken lying." Mitch said.

"Any way…" Mitch remarked. "Get ready for a ton of paperwork when you get back Marty. You'll have to get creative to explain why you lost one of Uncle Sam's precious bombers; which as a shit hot Navy attack pilot you are not allowed to do. Paperwork sucks ass."

"You ever lost one?" Rufus asked.

Dan nodded. "Midway Island….fucken gooney bird."

Mitch pointed to his face. "This scar. We were getting shot off the deck and low and behold mister ass hole Goony, Who was probably a Russian spy, was crossing the end of the cat stroke. Right through the canopy glass, across my cheek, blood and guts all over the fucken place and I panic'd."

"All I saw was white smoke….BOOM! Mitch punched out! I'm alone in the fucken Phantom still gaining altitude and he's gone! And what do I do? Sit there for a minute like a stupid dumb ass thinking…"Maybe I could land the plane myself?"…..till I realized "You don't have a control stick dumb ass!"….BOOM!"

Mitch snorted. "I had to fill out ten copies of document packages….fucken ten! to explain why I allowed a Communist goony bird to crash into my plane!"

"So what do you all think about what Henry Kissinger's been saying?" Rufus asked as he waved a piece of steak around on a fork. "He's saying…."Mmmm….I believes peace is at haaaand mmmmmm…." That dude freaks me out."

"If peace is at hand then someone should tell the Vietnamese." Marty said as he sipped on a beer. "I think we've about wiped North Vietnam of everything vital except the cows….and Hanoi Jane. Be a shame if someone killed her, then what would we do for comedy around here?"

Dan snorted. "That bitch. She looked really smart sitting on a North Vietnamese gun. She's the reason why the damn war's lasting so long."

Mitch shook his head. "Come on Tweety, you know better than that. Jane Fonda's no different than any other person…people have a right to bitch. We're not exactly out here to keep the North Vietnamese fishing navy from invading Hawaii. If the Soviets, the Cubans, the Chinese and the North Koreans weren't involved it might have been a different story. We're trying to keep the Communists from expanding their opportunities."

Rufus pursed his lips. "Containment…well this "containment" strategy seems to be sucking up more material and lives than if we just fight to win the damn war. But you can't beat the combat pay…I need the money."

"Don't we all?" Dan replied. "My boy has expensive tastes."

"That's just Tweety's excuse to cover his bar fines in Olongapo." Marty snickered. "He's the Don Juan of Subic."

"Oh fuck you Mitch." Dan snapped back as he grabbed for the cheese burger dropped on his plate. "So we'll be heading back to the ship in about three hours for a night landing. Hopefully we get a few days break before our next mission."

"I doubt that." Mitch replied. "Depends on how intense the NVA wants to make their current invasion. But I know that I have a ton of things to do when I get back. The skipper's been harping for personnel evaluations for a week and I have to make the required moral rounds of the division. The funny thing is they put Tweety in charge of Drug and Alcohol education."

Dan laughed. "Yeah….my latest training session was on…"How to properly manage a joint. What a joke. You hope the guys working on your planes aren't too stoned enough to forget the safety wire wraps or not walk into a turning engine on the flight deck."

Mitch finished his beer and got up. "Well….you guys will catch the next "COD" back to the ship. Let's all hook up when we go to Subic? Make a run to Baguio or Manila and destroy a club or two."

"Fine by us." Marty replied as he and Rufus waved good bye. "And thanks again Mitch!"

"Always there man." Mitch replied.

 **CHAPTER 2**

 **USS Midway**

 **Yankee Station**

 **10:45pm May 18, 1972**

Lieutenant Commander Dart "Red Lead" Logan tried to wrap one arm around a vertical pole while keeping the other hand occupied between the television screen at chest high level and holding the pistol grip with the other, all the while shaking himself against the offending rain and the bothersome head-set that seemed to be kicking his ass. He didn't mind being a Landing Signals Officer (LSO) well he didn't mind it when the weather was great but tonight the weather sucked. A monsoon rain, a pitching deck, visibility out to a mile and landing conditions were for shit…which made his job all the more crazy. What man in his good mind would be out like this standing on a platform in rough seas with but a flimsy net between him and the great beyond?

"Skyhawk 203…call the ball!" Dart spoke into his headset. Asking a pilot to "call it" meant that the pilot could see the Fresnel lense system or "meatball" that was attached to the ship's left side (port). The meatball was a "tree of lights" that both vertically and horizontally told an incoming pilot his path or "glide slope" into the landing area of the carrier. The landing space was a mere 100 feet optimal where four cables or pennants ran from left to right across the carrier's "aft" or back portion of its' flight deck. The incoming pilot's target was cable 3 or the 3rd cable from the back of the ship. If he missed all the cables? He would have to power up and fly or "bolter" off the ship….or if he was a dumb ass he'd simply roll until he hit the end of the landing area or "angle" and plunge a million dollars worth of aircraft into the South China Sea. On this night, with this pilot things were becoming crazy. The last time the Skyhawk came in? It zoomed over Dart's head…

"Skyhawk 203….call the ball!" Dart asked the pilot again. He then asked a nearby Sailor to fool around with the offending headgear.

"Skyhawk 203….Rodger Ball…up 3 and left 2." Came the reply from the Skyhawk pilot. Dart looked at his "sketch board" which a Sailor was holding for him. "Skyhawk 203 fuel state?"

"Skyhawk 203…2,000." Meaning he had 2,000 pounds of fuel left.

"If he doesn't "trap" (catch the wire) he's going to Lon Bin." Dart said as he looked at the television. "Skyhawk 203 come up, you are low." Dart told the pilot as he watched for the correction. "Man this monitor is for shit tonight….Skyhawk 203 you are climbing…power down." Dart could barely see the aircraft running lights as they started to get brighter in the rain. "You're low…you're low…power…power…POWER!" Dart's eyes widened. "POWER GOD DAMN IT!" He mashed the bolter light switch on his pistol grip and the Fresnel lense down the flight deck went all lights crazy trying to warn the Skyhawk pilot he was in serious shit. Dart watched as the struggling little jet barely cleared the back of the flight deck (The Round Down) and sped over the ship! "FUCK!"

The swearing into the radio caught the ear of 'The Boss" in the ship's Island structure. The Air Boss (or simply "Boss") was the officer who oversaw the entire flight deck and all that came and went. Even the ship's captain had to defer matters when they were within the Boss's purview and one thing he didn't like was frustrated LSO's when they started swearing…

"Logan?" The Boss spoke into Logan's headset…"Switch two."

Dart replied. "Sorry Commander."

"I know it's a pissy job out there tonight Dart but you can't lose your cool. You want a relief for a bit?"

Dart sighed. "No Sir….I can handle it. Only two planes left and they're solid in soup." Dart had to switch his radio quick as the CACC (Carrier Air Control Center) passed a plane to him that was entering final approach…

"Phantom 406 call the ball?" Dart said into his Mic.

Mitch heard Dart on the other end. "Evening Red Lead….Phantom 406 rodger ball up 2, right 1, fuel state 6,000."

"Ok Mitch…" Dart replied. "Winds at your back 15 knots, sea state choppy, deck uneasy."

Dan adjusted his seat straps as the landing could play hell on the shoulder muscles. "He sounds a little spun up."

"I'd be too if I had LSO duty out in this crap." Mitch replied. "Red Lead? Do you want me to switch to ACLS?" (Automatic Carrier Landing System)

"No…retard throttles 5 percent you are high on glide slope. Better to come in by hand Mitch, the old bitch is bronking hard tonight."

The Midway was the hardest carrier to trap aboard in 1972 of all the carriers in the fleet. One was because she had been modified so much from her World War II design that she actually listed to one side severely…that and in bad seas she was unpredictable as hell to judge for an inbound aircraft. Mitch knew that in bad enough sea states the old girl could bust an ACLS lock and losing lock when perhaps you might be only a few feet from and above the round down could be disastrous. Two days out from Yokosuka during carrier quals, an A-7 corsair slammed into the round down and exploded into bits…killing the pilot. To land on a bitch like Midway would have to qual a pilot for every other carrier in the fleet or the Blue Angels.

"Hold there…a little left…5 percent up power…hold it…." Dart was now leaning out with his head dangerously close to the safety line as the big Phantom came roaring down not 30 feet from him!

"In the grove! On the ramp!" Dart's body twisted as Mitch flew by his head, the plane's tailhook snagging the number 3 wire and dragging it up and out from the two big engines below the flight deck that applied counter-torque to bring the screaming fighter to a safe stop. Now a yellow shirt plane director came running up to the nose, motioned to Mitch to raise his tail hook and passed him off to another yellow shirt who guided the Phantom with hand signals to a stop on the "pack nose" or the bow where all of the other planes had been stored to clear the landing area.

"And another safe arrestment by Mitchel and….Tweety? You can stop sleeping now?"

Dan opened his eyes and yawned. "I thought we were escaping to Subic?"

Mitch opened the cockpit just as the boarding ladder clicked against the cockpit seal and a Sailor not near 19 years old came bounding up the side. "Hi Sir! How was the flight?"

Airman Scott "Scooby" Lang was like most of the Sailors who were assigned to VA-151's "Line Shack" mostly non-designated sailors who came in without a chosen field who served in such "shops" or "departments" for their first tour of duty until they figured out what they wanted to do or they got out after serving four years. Lang had a touch of German in his voice, Mitch remembered that his family came from some small village near Bremmen, and that Scooby was the youngest of 8 kids.

"Not bad Scooby….save the flak and we had to nurse an A-6 to Danang. Anything exciting while we were gone?"

"Mister Gastenau's in sick bay." Scooby replied as he took Mitch's flight bag. "His plane came in all messed up. He was flying up North over some town and got it bad."

Mitch thought as he climbed down. "Gastenau….flys with Lieutenant Riggart as his RIO." Taking the bag again from Scooby, Mitch gave him a slip of paper. "Make sure this gets to Chief Farnsworth will you? I need his notes for evals, they're due."

"I will Sir." Scooby replied as he tucked the note into his pants pocket and ran back to the Phantom. Every Plane Captain or "Brown Shirt" had one or two aircraft under their care for servicing, launching and recovery. Scooby was probably one of the top "PC's" in the squadron, a good candidate for meritorious promotion; the squadron promoted two Airmen a year for exceptional conduct and ability.

Mitch turned to Dan. "I'm going to check on "Gassy" Gastenau, Tweety. See you tomorrow in the ready room. I don't think we're flying tomorrow."

"Fine by me Pop." Dan said as he pitched his bag over his shoulder. "Night." And walked into the Island towards "officer country" and his stateroom under the flight deck. Mitch found a ladder well and descended past "Gun Gallery" or the half deck between the upper deck and the hanger deck where all the maintenance aircraft were stored to the hanger deck itself. The spacious void was split into two parts by a thin wide set of bay doors which could be closed to section the spaces off in case of fire or explosions. Mitch crossed the void, ducking every few feet under a parked plane, to a thick steel door in the deck that led down to the next deck below and to Main Medical.

The medical ward of the Midway was comparable to any large civilian hospital even in the confines allowed by space appropriations within the small aircraft carrier. There were three operating rooms, three clinical rooms, an x-ray room, a full pharmacy, a bed ward, a full dentistry…and a morgue room. By day there was no way Mitch could have gained entry, the non-combat experienced senior medical officer was a serious anal tight bastard. But the night shift crew was led by a Corpsman, Jason Fryberg, who'd done lots of the time with the Marines in "Indian Country" and he was more respectful of the brotherhood bond between combat crews.

"We had to put Mister Gastenau under sedation Sir." Fryberg said as he escorted Mitch back to the bed ward. "He was pretty banged up. The Squadron commander was here an hour ago."

When they got to the bed, Fryberg patted Mitch on the shoulder. "Please be brief Sir?"

Mitch leaned over the side of the bed…"Ed? It's Mitch."

Gastenau opened his eyes slightly and raised a weak hand. "Hey…heard you bombed Danang?"

"I bombed the red light district to get out of my bar tab." Mitch snorted. "You look like cat in a blender. What happened to Riggert?"

Gastenau sighed. "Guess you'd figure it out…he didn't make it."

Mitch was silent for a moment. Riggart was barely new to the squadron as a Junior Officer with what….nine sorties? Nine and he got whacked?

Gastenau sighed…"We were covering an A-7 strike on the boat yards at Ban Hong south of Haiphong and they lit us up with SA-2's (Soviet made Surface to Air Missiles) we evaded four and the fifth came up over the top of us and exploded. All I saw was white light and then the whole cockpit felt like an oven. Flew right through the fireball, the canopy blown apart, the whole spine of the Phantom ripped up. How I got back to the ship was pure luck."

"We fly a tough bird." Mitch said as he patted Gastenau on the shoulder. "Hang in there Shipmate. You'll be back soon. I know losing Riggart's going to suck…you knew him longer than I did."

Gastenau sighed. "Mitch? I'm done…when we pull into Yokosuka, I'm turning in my wings and going home. God damn we've hit the same fucken targets a hundred damn times over, what the fuck did Riggart die for?"

"Ed…I know it's frustrating but we're here to support the guys who are just as sunk in the shit as we are…"

"No Mitch." Gastenau snapped back. "Fuck this shit…I am done man…fucken done with it….I don't want this any more damn it…"

Corpsman Fryberg came back. "He needs to rest Sir, it's time to go and let him sleep."

Mitch nodded. "Get some rest Ed…when you get out of here? If you need to come and shoot the frustrations out of your head? Come see me ok?" Mitchel waved a little and walked out into the passageway outside the Medical Ward with Fryberg…

"It's the drugs Sir…he should be better by morning." The Corpsman said.

"No…."Mitch replied. "He's dead serious. You just make sure he's well cared for ok?"

"I will Sir." Fryberg replied as he watched the burly officer walk away to a nearby ladder. Mitch climbed the ladder to the hanger deck and then another ladder into officers country where he entered his two man state room. Pilots never shared rooms with their RIO's for obvious reasons…should one of them "Bite the farm", the other would have the duty of packing up personal effects and for either officer that could be too emotionally devastating. Mitch's room mate was "Jessie" Bob Ford; the call sign pointing to Robert Ford who put the bullet into the back of Jessie Jame's head. Ford had 60 missions under his belt so far in Vietnam and only two air kills, which to Mitch's numbers made Ford feel like a munchkin. He woke up as Mitch got ready to walk to the showers.

"You're back late." Jessie said as he shook his hair and rubbed his thick stash…"Yawn… what happened?"

"Had to shepherd a 115 Intruder to Danang. We messed up the NVA attack on Kon Tun though. What about you?"

Jessie snorted. "Absolutely boring time over Kep. The little gomers didn't want to come up to play. You heard about Gassy and Riggert?"

"Went to see Gassy before I came up here. Sucks. And what the hell, haven't we bombed that little boat yard about a hundred damn times? What possible purpose does that sack of shit fishing village fill?" Mitch asked.

"They're building the secret North Vietnamese super submarine to fire boulders at San Francisco. A whore in Saigon told me." Jessie replied. "You're not flying tomorrow and by the way the skipper needs to chew fat and you're the selected victim this week."

Mitch huffed. "I'll throw Tweety at him. He's my annoyance chaff."

Mitch walked down to the showers and slipped into a stall. He was surprised to find that the water pressure and temperature were for once reasonably stable. The old ship was notorious for ice cold or super hot wavy water temperatures. He didn't dwell long on Riggert's death, you didn't do that too long or it would make you unstable and your partner in the plane skiddish.

Then it hit Mitch…."Fuck…" Riggert was Tweety's room-mate. Well tomorrow he would talk to Dan and see how he was. Another fun day in "Viet-Disney-nam" ended.

 **USS Midway**

 **Yankee Station**

 **8:00am May 19, 1972**

 **V/F 151 Vigilante Ready Room**

Mitch walked through the door carrying a carton of orange juice and a well abused black binder with papers hanging out and right away was met by Dan Elsberry, the aviation Yeoman who handed the ready room documentation library and the pilot's flight logs. The guy had started out as a lanky 18 year old "non-dez" who was pretty pathetic with tools but a genius for organization. He'd been an eagle scout and his Boy Scout pride was always evident about the ready room. He had an affliction for "Follow me Boys" that Fred McMurray movie which he somehow was able to get a movie quality copy of. The guy played it too death.

"Morning Sir." Elsberry said as he quickly produced Mitch's flight log. "Did you get any MIGs on your last hop?"

"No I didn't, seems the North Vietnamese pilots were kind of spooked out after old Bobby Olds ripped them up last week over Kep field. They're staying mostly around Hanoi now. But I imagine it won't be long before I go up there again."

Elsberry showed Mitch a page and had him sign the verification line. "The Skipper's in his office. He's asked for you."

Mitch nodded to the Yeoman and walked across the room to the door where "Skipper Wise" had his small office. The veteran pilot had seen a lot of action in Korea off the old USS Bennington and was probably on his last leg with 151. The last time they talked he had heard no word of any advancement nor any further assignments because the upper crust of senior naval officers was locked up tight and the old man was approaching that stage where a Naval aviator would have to say good bye to the cockpit and hello to a desk. "Sam" hated the prospect. "SAM" wise wasn't given the call sign because of the "Lord of the Rings" books by J.R. Tokken. His original call sign was "Snappy" because he had a reputation for being too hard on airplanes and flight decks like a year ago when he did what was thought to be impossible…snapped the Mains right of an F-4. No he was called "SAM" wise because over Haiphong he dodged a record 40 SA-2's fired by the Vietnamese. The Skipper had intimate knowledge and sense of how to fight SAM's. and for the most part it helped the squadron greatly.

Mitch poked his head in through the doorway. "Sir? You wanted to kill me?"

The burley old man with almost no hair on his head snorted back. "You bombed fucken Danang?"

"I….got stood up." Mitch snickered as he sat. "My bar girl left me for another guy, what could I do?"

The skipper chuckled. "You did well yesterday over Kon Tun. Victory for our side, sucks to be an NVA general who has to explain wasting half his troops in a moronic river crossing. Good news is that General Giap has been sacked by Uncle Ho and there are rumors from the international press that Ho wants to conclude this miserable business. Personally? I say let the Vietnamese fight themselves and see if the Domino Theory plays out."

Mitch sighed…"No word from Washington sir?"

"Not bothered if it doesn't come Mitch. I've been told to ask you again about going home. I know you're dedicated Mitch but the Navy doesn't want to take a chance of having its best ace end up in the Hilton. You see what those little fuckers are doing to our guys…especially with help from that cunt Fonda; I swear if I knew her location? I'll order a strike on her ass and that little weasel dick Haiden she hangs with. Anyway….I gave you the day off so you can get those evals in. Tomorrow you're going North with a strike pack against Hap Bien airbase."

"Good." Mitch snorted. "That place is like being tickled by an annoying cat. I want to kick their ass."

"A little attitude is fine…don't overdo it." Commander Wise replied. "That's been an Air Force target so far and from their reports it seems Hap has a shit hot MIG-17 pilot among the crew…five Air force Phantoms have been shot down so far, that makes this "Colonel Thoon" an ace.

"Colonel Thoon" was a mythical name cooked up by another Navy ace that Mitchel had little respect for. Randy "Duke" Cunningham had always been a big mouth bastard to Mitch, a publicity seeker more apt to chase a camera than a MIG. He was going around the fleet bragging he'd shot down this "Thoon" character who had 13 star kills painted on his MIG 17. Well the guy didn't exist…at least as far as many pilots knew. No Vietnamese pilot yet had survived to bag 5 American planes because the MIG 17 and 21 were pieces of Soviet shit not worth the name of "airplane" Mitch would love to see Randy again but they were on two different ships. He love to sock the stupid bastard in the mouth.

Wise pointed to Mitch as he got up. "Remember, I want those evals by day's end Mitch, I mean it. You don't take care of the Sailors? I will certainly take care of you."

"Does that mean we're betroved?" Mitch asked.

"Get out of here you silly mother fucker." Wise snorted.

Mitch turned from the office to see Dan filling his coffee. He walked up to him… remembering Riggert. "Morning Tweety." He asked as he reached for his own cup on the wall. "You ok?"

"Should I not be?" Dan replied. "I didn't know him that long Mitch. Riggart usually kept to himself. But I still have to pack away his gear and personals today…..which does suck."

Mitch laid a hand on Dan's shoulder. "Just know that if you need to talk Dan, I'm here."

"Sheesh boss don't baby the hell out of me?" Dan replied. "I'm alright….really."

Mitch nodded and took his cup of coffee and his note book and walked out of the ready room and down the narrow steel corridor which aboard the old ship was at times a difficult slalom course of pipes, hanging fire hose reels and the base of partition doors called "Knee Knockers" for a reason. In climbing over the top of one, Mitch nailed his shin on the steel lip enough to wince…."Mother fuck." He snapped. He soon arrived at the door for VA-151 Line Shack where he kicked it open forcefully enough to send an outbound airman falling to the floor!

"Shit!" Mitch snapped as he put his cup and note book down to help the Sailor off the deck. "Sorry about that Elders!"

"No problem Sir." The Sailor replied. "That's my dose of whoop ass for the day. Hey chief? Does the Lieutenant decking me count as a daily dog pile event?"

The chief waved his hand. "No….in fact, consider yourself fucked you chilly bastard…now get to work before I have Sebio beat you unmercifully." The Philipino chief snorted. "Good morning Sir…I take it you want to chee the evaluation notes?"

"Yes." Mitchel replied as he took a seat on the padded bench. The Line Shack was just that, a broom closet. There was one chief (Chief Jusabo "You-sah-bow) in charge of 30 Sailors split 15 each in two shifts. The place was packed with chains for the planes, boxes of oil, hydraulic fluid and grease and stunk of body odor and chemicals that should make a cat seize, go into shock and die. Jusabo was a Philipino, as was most of the Sailors in the shack. It had only been two years since President Nixon declared that Philipinos were worthy people of the highest regard and that keeping them alone as "stewards and supply clerks" aboard US warships was an act of utter disgrace. To Mitch, the move to give the Philipinos more billets and assignments was a huge plus because of the term "Philipino mafia." Supply was always a problem in the Navy however, the more Philipinos a command boasted, the less the problem. No one could con, com shaw and move materials subversively like the Philipino mafia. Case in point, flight boots. Mitch always claimed he bought his own pair…which were ridiculously expensive. But he really got them through the ships mafia along with an endless supply of precious toilet paper…the good kind the admiral gets and not the ass ripping low quality bidder crap.

Jusabo reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a note book. "All the notes you need are in here Sir."

"You're always awesome Chief. You know the skipper is hinting that his next two merit advancements will come from the Line Shack? I mean you'll be losing Petty Officers Aquala, Hanson and Salazar in the coming months and the whole place will probably rotate people. You have anyone in mind?"

Jusabo rubbed his hair. "Now that's a tough one…Jeu know we have Lang and DeSoto Lieutenant, I wish we have 50 of each kid. Lang is an ass buster I never have trouble with and DeSoto is my airman with fangs. Problem is…the ship has had a number of Philipino's advanced in the past two years that it's now causing some people to get pissed off. In the Chief's mess they're pushing us to advance more white guys. Now Chair ez a fucking problem."

"I didn't ask what the Chief's mess thinks…you tell me Jusabo, who do you want this cycle for advancement?"

"DeSoto. Because Lang isn't ready for leadership. He's a great worker, busts his back to please but he's not ready. I want to take him under my wing for the next six months, build up his confidence, grow his balls and get him to be more outgoing then I will put him in for promotion. To help him out? I want him to be awarded a Navy Achievement Medal."

"That might be difficult." Mitch said. "We normally don't give NAM's to airmen."

"To me…Scooby isn't a normal Airman." Jusabo replied. "And it would shut those dumb bastards up in the mess who claim this "Philipino privilages" crap."

"I'll see what I can do." Mitch replied as he took the notebook and looked at the Chief's notes. "You even wrote the bullet points?"

"What the hell? You think all I do all day is sit here, drink coffee and jack off?" Jusabo replied. "I wanted to save you some time."

"Thanks Chief. I want to speak with the crew at shift change so let them know?" Mitch said. He turned and went to his stateroom in officer's country to work on the evals. If it wasn't for the Chief being such a well versed writer, Mitch would probably be lost. The one thing he never mastered during his academy days was clerical writing…which board him to no end. Bob Ford came walking into the room and threw a notebook against a wall…an obvious sign the guy needed to vent…

"What's up Bob?" Mitch asked as he pushed the evals into the space of his hutch and closed the door.

"Fucken target list is out for our strike tomorrow morning. Oh by the way you'll probably want to hit the rack about 8pm? We have to be up at 3 for brief." Bob flopped down in a chair. "Cock suckers in Washington man, I swear if I had enough gas? I'd bomb the fucken Capital."

Mitch snorted. "Let me guess…Mickey Mouse picked the targets again?"

"It says we can hit the runway at Hap Bien. We can bomb the runway but not the parking apron….not the hangers…..not the fuel farm…..not the barracks….not the anti-aircraft guns.. how long do you think it will take those little "Dink" cock suckers to repair the runway?"

Mitch pursed his lips…"Bout 12 hours."

"Mother fucker Mitch! How in hell are we to do anything if they won't let us fight the damn war! Can't bomb this, can't strafe that….can't bomb a Fricken outhouse because some ass hole Russian might be taking a damn dump. You think the "gooks" have such Mickey Mouse problems? I don't see them having to deal with such bull shit."

Mitch sighed. "Communism is a Mickey Mouse operation. You think we're the only ones having to deal with stupid people in government? I bet you the rice farmer who lives a hundred miles South of Hanoi is having as much an issue with "Uncle Ho" putting his puss between him and his growing season as he is about getting food on the table for the wife and kids."

"Well it sucks Mitch, it fucken sucks. Riggert gets killed, we have our guys rotting in the Hanoi Hilton, thousands of grunts have been killed since what….58? And what the hell have we to show for all the blood? Richard Nixon's daughter marries and the press orgasms over her dress….what a fucken wonderful world of Disney we have here man."

"Bob?" Mitch said. "I'm begging you to stop with the "gook" garbage. We're fighting men, not "gooks". You use words to belittle your enemy but it doesn't make him any different from you. If you're not careful, if you underestimate the pilots we fly against? You're going to get whacked. Never look at your opponent as less capable than yourself. I haven't survived out here for this long had I treated these Vietnamese pilots like balless little mice."

 **1pm, May 19,1972**

 **The People's Democratic (laughter) Republic of Vietnam aka "North Vietnam"**

 **Hap Bien Airfield 25 miles Southwest of Hanoi, 37** **th** **People's Air Force Fighter Command.**

Ta Dinh Hao (Tay Din How) had been the political commissar of the 37th command for a year now and was still trying to feel comfortable in his position. He'd replaced the last man who held the job of extolling the virtuous struggle against universal imperialism, colonialism and Western perversion because the man wasn't producing results. So far, Dinh felt he also was falling short. All the "patriotic spirit in the world" wasn't translating into battlefield success. Pilots were still being shot down faster than the central command could send replacements. There was by far no wavering in the cause for which the people had been engaged in for the past thousand or so years, patience would yet produce final victory…hopefully before the country ran out of good men to assure its' continued survival.

Dinh walked through the common quarters shared by both the maintenance crews and the pilots. There were few spaces reserved for individuals, that was counter to the cause of Socialism where all men regardless of rank shared the products of the whole. But the man Dinh was coming to see was an exceptional case. He had just returned from spending time with the beloved People's President at his home in Hanoi, a reward which made others envious. The individual quarters was the country's reward for the young pilot's exceptional skill in an environment where so few North Vietnamese pilots made it past their third kill before being shot to their ancestors by the murdering imperial war pirates of America.

Dinh knocked on the door and walked inside to see the pilot sitting at a desk. The room was Spartan with few personal amenities save the bunk bed, a chair, a provided small refrigerator, a locker for the pilot's gear and a wall poster of "Miss Ty Anh" a well known folk singer who unfortunately was under surveillance for "un-revolutionary activities"….then again even Dinh found her singing in English not deserving of having a surveillance placed on her but he would gently remind the young pilot to be most careful when it came to upper brass like Commanding General Thanh (Tahn)

"Good morning Comrade Kien Dinh (Keen Din). I trust you enjoyed your time with President Ho? You know you are the absolute envy of every other pilot in the 37th right now?"

The young man gave a light smile back. He resisted the desire to slap the stupid Commissar silly for denying Din's first name. "It was alright."

"That's all you have to say? All right? You got to sit and talk to the great commander Ho and all you say is all right?" The Commissar said. "You don't understand how awesome the reward was that the nation gave you."

Din leaned against his desk. "Dear Commissar of the people…President Ho is no higher than any man. He was just like my grandfather, we spent all day in his garden. Do you know the President grows the most awesome tomatoes? In this climate of Southeast Asia he grows huge, sweet tomatoes! I believe he would rather tend to a farm in his old age than suffer the stress of this crazy war." Din wiped his mouth, then his eyes…."He's so tired….I fear for his health."

The Commissar nodded. "I am sure your remark about the war being crazy is not counter to the spirit of the people? Since it is time for personnel evaluations and you are the most senior pilot in the command, I wanted to ask you if you've completed your assignment?"

Din responded by giving the Commissar a small stack of paper. "Here they are. And honestly? The war is crazy…if I can have a little space to be honest?"

The Commisar didn't reply as he scanned through the written documents. "Uh…..comrade? This evaluation on Comrade Diep Con Loc (Dee-ep Con Loke)….could you perhaps find a better way to phrase it?"

Din smirked. "What's wrong with it?"

"Uh….you wrote…."Comrade Con, while being filled with martial spirit for the cause of our people is less than apt in the upkeep of our aircraft…his performance is substandard, his leadership below quality." Comrade…that's a little too harsh."

Din snorted back. "No it's not! Oh yes, Comrade Con can sing every patriotic song at our political gatherings like an angel but as far as fixing planes and directing crewmen? Excuse me Comrade but…..he fucken sucks!"

"I wish to remind you comrade that Comrade Con was given his position…"

"I don't care if he was the son of the garbage man of Mao's summer cottage. I don't want that man near my airplane, I wouldn't him within a mile of any airplane! Do we want to be victorious or are we willing to kill more pilots and help the Americans to win? I should have ignored the idiots who stood around President Ho and given him a dose of the truth."

"It's only because you and I have a history in primary school as student and teacher Din that I don't berate you and then report you for your comments. I've warned you since childhood that your loose mouth is always your worst enemy."

Din stood up…"My worst enemy is the American pilots I fly against and people like you who enjoy being insulting by dropping part of my name because it offends you, the people's congress and every tweedle dick ass hole from the Chinese boarder to Saigon. You never used to insult me Hao but ever since you put on that little politburo button you've prided yourself on trying to make me drop the name my very mother gave me. And don't give me one of your little threats please? Do you honestly believe they would toss their best fighter pilot into Than Hoi Prison? In fact, I might enjoy being shacked up with those American prisoners…at least I'll get more respect from them than I get so far from my own people. You pump our pilots full of zealot phrases and clauses instead of good training and I watch then die while you sit safely down here flying your fucken desk!"

Din pushed the piece of paper back into the Commisar's chest. "As for my review of Comrade Con? I'm not changing a damn letter. The man is a catastrophe, a political hack son of some jack ass who's shoddy performance will get pilots killed and that's the damn truth!" Din flopped into his chair and crossed his arms. "And another thing? Stop belittling the American pilots, stop calling them "air pirates", "dogs" and "rats" and call them what they are….men. No wonder our younger pilots are dead the moment their wheels leave the ground on their first mission."

The Commissar groaned." I will overlook your rash words because of your youth Comrade Din but I warn you…your smart punk mouth will run afoul of someone of higher rank and even your stellar war record will not save you. Think of those who have boiled the blood of Hanoi, where are they now?"

Din snorted back and waved his hand…"Do me a favor and get the fuck out of my room? I need time for rest and sleep before I go up again."

Richelieu Kien Dinh, 19 years old, was born on August 23, 1953 in a small village 15 miles West of Hanoi, North Vietnam to a French Communist woman and her husband, a member of the Viet Minh then fighting the French colonial forces who had reoccupied "Indochina" after the World War II allies gave the territory back to a filthy nation who never deserved it back. During the war, Indochina was in the hands of Vichy-France who allowed the Japanese to overload over the country. His father had survived four years of torture at a Japanese prison camp in Dau Moc to be rescued by a French Communist who was a contact with the then United States Office of Strategic Services (The OSS)

Richelieu was like other children growing up in the Communist North….save that he wasn't exactly taking things as serious as his peers. Despite his mother and father's constant badgering, and the fact that his butt was redder than a street light from being so often beaten, Richelieu didn't behave like a disciplined "Red Pioneer" as children going through the Communist indoctrination schools were. In fact the younger boy was more prone to practical jokes coming from a "decadent" Western fixation with….Abbot and Costello. Richelieu or rather "Rick" a shorthand he'd adopted from one of those illegal western comic books, took to getting his fix of Abbot and Costello from a local man who by some good fortune was able to acquire through the black market in Saigon a ton of 1940's American movies with shorts of Abbot and Costello performances and it was from these "devices of corruption" that "Rick" learned how to be a wise little Communist smart ass.

Being that his father was now so high in the Viet Minh by the early 1960's, young Richelieu pulled off the most daring, audacious and dangerous prank of his life. During an exhibition of newly acquired weapons from the comrades in glorious international Communist arms in Moscow; Rick along with his father attended a gathering in Hanoi where President and beloved national father, Uncle Ho Che Minh would observe the military on maneuvers. With the sly cunning of a Viet Cong infiltrator, Rick dabbed black ink on the eye pieces of Ho Che Minh's personal glasses and waited for the show. The stunned faces and angry looks of many high ranking officials to the shock of "Uncle Ho" suddenly having a raccoon face was so hilarious that the young boy was seized at once….as he was the only one laughing among the guests.

Young "Rick" thought he would be dragged from the event and shot as a traitor, how dare this little bastard stain the face of the dear President of the people. Two burly Vietnamese officers dragged the youngster in front of Ho and demanded the privilege of making sure his ability to walk would be "detained" as long as he lived. What a shock it was to everyone when Ho Che Minh took the boy into his arms and gave him a loving hug for brightening the President's day with laughter and for showing the pluck and audacity some of his most trusted generals seemed to be lacking.

Not long after…Rick got his ass royally beaten by his angry parents.

Then came 1964 and the Tonkin Gulf Incident. While Rick had no real hate towards Americans, in fact in 1964 very few North Vietnamese people really disdained America, the fact that the American government had decided to involve themselves in Vietnam and drop bombs upon his country both saddened the young teenager but also pissed him off. While his parents hoped he would go on and attend university in Moscow…Rick wanted nothing of that "tedious pile of "boring Communist dogma" all he cared about was that the Americans had lost their damned minds and he felt a personal mission to "set the stupid round eyes right". In 1968 the then 15 year old boy ran away from home and lied about his age to enlist in the Vietnamese People's Air Force where through cunning, lies and some bribery he got to go through flight training. After crashing three training planes, throwing numerous tantrums and kicking a few Chinese and Russian advisors in their nuts for insulting his pride…"Rick" became a MIG-17 pilot in late 1969 and to his amazement? He had a hidden talent for both flying and dog fighting.

On October 3, 1969 over the village of Han Loi, Rick nailed his first kill…an F-101 Thunder Chief flying a "SAM THUD" mission. The next day he bagged an A-7 Corsair over Bac Yang. The day after that, an A-4 Skyhawk and an F-4 Phantom and the day after that another Phantom. In each case the as yet undiscovered (and illegal because of his age) youth had five kills. All of the enemy pilots survived to be captured because Rick had no heart to kill any man, he thought denying the Americans the further use of both planes and pilots was good enough to teach them a lesson.

By August 17, 1971 Rick had shot down 13 American planes when he went head to head against a tough opponent. South of Hanoi he and a wing man jumped a US Navy F-4 Phantom with four red stars painted on the left engine cowling. Rick realized he'd ran into Lieutenant Randy "Duke" Cunningham who the Vietnamese had placed a 1,000 dollar bounty upon. It was the only time thus far that anyone had gotten close to bringing Rick down, his MIG punctured from missile holes, his canopy glass broken and his vision blocked by spraying hydraulic fluid it was a miracle Rick didn't end up dead…but his wingman did; Cunningham's fifth kill.

When Rick got back to his base and found out Cunningham was boasting that he'd shot down Vietnam's top MIG ace as "Colonel Thoon" he blew a gasket, blurting that he had his Vietnamese name and his despised English first name "emblazoned like hell" all over his plane. Then he realized…maybe making the name as big as he pleased….wasn't such a good idea. He was promptly arrested and thrown in the stockade.

The trial itself was a fabrication of lies, turns out people don't like it when some upstart youngster fresh out of mom's carry basket in the rice fields makes them look like shit; people Rick never new existed came down from Hanoi to claim he'd offended "The revolutionary spirit" in every way short of….well you don't talk about the extremes even in polite conversations. The now very ticked off young Vietnamese pilot returned both shotgun barrels upon his accusers calling them everything from mindless Chinese pets to wanton killers who fill young men with piss and sit on their ass while they died for them. If Rick was going to be executed, he might as well throw everything on the table.

Lucky for him his mother was accomplished in tear production and begging. Dear President Ho saved his behind, threw him back into the cockpit and warned all with an attitude problem not to "screw up a good thing going." By the evening of May 19, 1972, "Rick" Richelieu Kien Dinh had 16 kills to his credit. Room on his MIG-17 for more markings was becoming short. Yet he badly wanted to meet the one American pilot everyone was talking about, the so called "Widow Maker" who flew a US Navy Phantom jet numbered 06. The man was rumored to have almost 15 kills to his credit, for once a very worthy adversary other than that loud mouth Cunningham Rick so wanted to slap the happy shit out of. Perhaps tomorrow? How long would the Americans refrain from coming after Hap Bien and really slapping the base silly? The last time they only hit the rice field and a water Ox….how pathetic.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **4am**

 **USS Midway on Yankee Station**

 **VA-151 Ready room**

Pops entered through the doorway still half asleep as Dan walked up and pushed a cup of coffee and a Danish into Pop's hands. "You were trying to sleep in I see. We were waiting for you."

Pops shook his head as the Commander (Skipper) of the squadron leaned on his podium smirking at the stumbling pilot. "Now that our honored guest has decided not to skip out on the war in progress, I take it I can begin the briefing for this morning's operation?"

Pops waved a hand…."Give me another few minutes to screw my brain into my ass?" He said, which drew some laughter around the small room. Commander Wise however was not interested in laughing…

"Our mission for today gentlemen is FITSWEEP (Fighter sweep) over Hap Bien in support of a two package strike against the airfield, a flight of A-7's performing IRON HAND (Anti-AAA/SAM suppression) and a flight of A-6 Intruders which will perform the attack on the field itself. We are going to bomb the hell out of everything this time, the whole smack. National Command Authority is taking the socks off, no more friggen tip toe through the damn roses. We're going to whoop ass Charlie all over Vietnam."

"About damn time someone in Washington got their head out of their ass." A pilot who was sitting behind Pops remarked.

"He probably got the blowjob he wanted from Henry." Another quipped to Dan.

The Skipper continued. "We will launch an eight plane shark pack, standard Sparrow and sidewinders, four top out at 30,000 and four at 15,000. "Snoggy" and "JD" will lead "top shark" and Pop and Tweety will take "deck shark". VA-161 "Red Rockers will fly "snub nose" (lead guard) and "buck shot" (rear guard) for the A-7's and A-6's. Well will INGRES ten minutes before the main attack force."

"G3 reports that Hap Bien is defended by two SA-2 SAM batteries of seven launchers per battery, at least ten heavy gun sites and 14 light gun sites. As of late there is one single MIG-17 squadron of perhaps 12 MIG-17 FRESCO's. It's from this squadron that G3 and the Air Force confirm at least one very experienced pilot…rumor has it he has shot down 15 of our guys and if that's the case? You'll know the little gook shit when you see him. Do not loiter to long after the arrival of the main strike, once they hit the airfield you are to DEGRES and come home."

Mitch looked over at Dan and rubbed his shoulder. "Same as always Tweety."

Dan nodded. "Would I be any different?"

The Skipper pointed to the back of the ready room. "Your information is ready for pick up from the Yeoman gentlemen. Check out your weapons, make sure you double check everything and good hunting."

Mitch walked up to Elsberry and took the paperwork he had prepared for the pilot's kneeboard. "Let's see who's going with us on "Deck shark"….403 "Augie" and "Smash", 407 "Blowtorch" and "Mobster" and 408 "Bennie" and "Puddy cat". Mitch walked over to one pilot and his RIO…."Yo Nicholas?"

Lieutenant Nicholas "Bennie" Bardett was the newbie in the squadron…that's to say his actual combat time was more bombing strikes and CAP over the carrier force than actual MIG hunting. He turned to Mitch as he walked up.

"I want you to stick close to me and Tweety for this one since you don't have air combat time." Mitch told Nick. "It's not slighting you or your RIO, just standard practice."

"It's not like we're fighting the Russians." Nick replied as he grabbed his knee board. "Come on, they're just stupid little "chinks".

Mitch frowned. "Excuse me? Chinks? What the hell did they teach you at Miramar? (Top Gun) Didn't they teach you to respect your opponent?"

"The Russians yeah…but these little piss ants? Give me a break, you've shot down what…13 of them?"

Mitch snagged Nick by his flight suit and hauled him out into the passageway with Tweety right behind him…."Mitch?! Calm down!"

"Back off Tweety." Mitch snapped, then he turned on Nick…"Look here Lieutenant, you wet behind the ears little fuck, I'm trying to keep your ass and that of your RIO from being splattered all over North Vietnam. I've known plenty of piss and vinegar pilots like you who shot their racial mouth off about the Vietnamese….well these little yellow "dink mother fuckers" may be small to you my friend but they're racking up body counts as fast as you can count to fucken ten! Plenty of pilots disrespected these people and have found themselves rotting in the Hanoi Hilton or filling a fucken grave at Arlington so if you want to go out there and get your jollies off being a stupid fucktard then I suggest you leave your RIO behind so at least he can have a shot at old age. Now you WILL stay close to me or so help me God in heaven I will fucken put a winder up your tailpipe and send you to hell myself! You read me you little mother fucker?!"

Mitch had Nick jacked up against the wall when the Skipper came out. "Sir! I want to put Lieutenant Mitchel on report!"

Wise gave the man a brutal stare. "Shut the fuck up Bardett. I don't see a damn thing. You listen to this officer and you might live…If I hear you got shot down because of your cocky attitude? I'll hunt you down in the jungle and fucken kill you myself…..capeesh?"

Nick picked himself up and stomped off with his RIO in hot pursuit. Commander Wise turned to Mitch and shook his head. "That was very unprofessional of you Hunter. You made the newbie piss his pants. I at least expected a black eye."

Mitch smirked. "Day's young though Sir."

"Good hunting…and take care of our boys out there and yourself." Wise said with a grin as he punched Mitch in the shoulder.

Dan just stood shaking his head. "You know what Pop? You're going to make a bad parent one of these days."

Mitch chuckled. "If my kids live to be ten it will be a miracle."

 **5am, May 20,1972**

 **The People's Democratic (laughter) Republic of Vietnam aka "North Vietnam"**

 **Hap Bien Airfield 25 miles Southwest of Hanoi, 37** **th** **People's Air Force Fighter Command.**

Rick gummed most of the way through the morning singing of "Das International" the Communist anthem and then looked interested as possible having to suffer through the reading from "Das Capital" (The Communist Manifesto) and the same old crap being slung by the political Commissar; all of it a fricken pointless waste of precious time better used to give a better briefing to the pilots in the room. Why the hell were all the maintainers in here for every morning? Should they not be out making sure the MIG's were ready? This was why Rick hired his own maintainer who, though 60 years old, was a mechanic with some better damn sense that the idiots who touched other people's planes.

Now some new Colonel came forwards, supposedly the command tactical officer but Rick didn't know how much experience the man had until he started to speak….and then Rick started to wretch…

"Good morning comrades on this glorious day. Today the entire command will fly this morning as we have it on good authority from our comrades in the South that the American air pirates will surely visit our base soon! Our strategy calls for a spontaneous overwhelming attack from all sides and altitudes upon the agressors! Your flight leaders have already been briefed…."

Rick rolled his eyes…."Oh fuck….that again? The same old crap that never works?" He thought. "The Americans will be ready for that you stupid idiot!" Rick shifted in his seat and suffered through the continuous spouting of "Party Spirit", "Communist Union" and "triumph of the glorious international revolution" before the disaster of a briefing came to a blessed ending.

Perhaps being full of anger or perhaps daring or perhaps insane stupidity, Rick approached the Colonel and saluted. "Comrade Colonel! I am Richelieu Kien Dinh!"

"Ah…our glorious young fighter ace. It is an honor Lieutenant Dinh, indeed. You are an inspiration to our fatherland." The Colonel replied…Rick thought…"Please shut up idiot before I puke on you?"

"Begging the Comrade Colonel's pardon but…can the Comrade Colonel enlighten me as to his vast experience in combat?"

The Colonel replied. "I have been in 14 major ground campaigns from the Battle of Chu Pong (Ia Drang November 1965) to Hue City."

"I see. And what experience does the Comrade Colonel have with Air Combat?" Rick asked.

"I studied air tactics at Lu Yin Academy in China and participated in several interrogations of American war criminals at Hon Loi (Hanoi Hilton) Prison."

Rick was boiling…"I see…soooooo..Comrade Colonel actually has little flight experience?"

"I have acquired an in depth knowledge of battle tactics Comrade Dinh. There is little difference between fighting on the ground or in the air against the Yankee rats."

"Oh my God…." Dinh thought. "This man is a complete fuck-tard." Dinh held the urge to punch the silly bastard. "I see…..would Comrade Colonel wish to question this lowly pilot of the people perhaps for more in depth insights which could aid the Colonel's intelligence and make him a more proficient leader?"

The Colonel suddenly looked angry. "Comrade Dinh? What rank are you?"

Dinh Replied. "Lieutenant Sir."

"Then Comrade Dinh? I suggest you keep to your rank and leave the tactics and strategy making to those who are appointed to it. Do you understand?"

"Comrade Colonel I was just…."

The Colonel snapped back. "Comrade Dinh? Do you understand your place?!"

The room went silent as people looked at Rick's frustrated face. He quickly snapped to attention…."YES! Understood Comrade Colonel!"

As the Colonel turned and left, Rick clenched his fists…"You mother fucker. You stupid, murdering ass hole. How many more men are going to be deprived from this country because of stupid fuck-tard hacks like you?"

Just then, Dinh felt a tug on his uniform. He turned to face a young looking pilot holding his flight harness. "Comrade Dinh? I'm having trouble adjusting this harness but first….could you sign it for me? I would be so honored."

Dinh signed and took the harness. "What is your name pilot? Your age?"

"I am comrade junior Lieutenant Tan Min Quan from Ho Quang Village." The young man replied. "I am 18 Sir."

Rick looked around and softly pulled on the young pilot's shirt. "Follow me Tan?"

Both pilots left the wooden camouflaged building and walked over to a water trough where Rick handed Tan a ladle of water. "Listen carefully….I want you to stay close to my wing and don't leave it no matter what…you understand? You do as I tell you and you follow my orders without question."

Tan looked around. "Comrade, that's not how…."

"I don't care how "they" want us to do things. I'll be honest if you won't report me….do you want to live Tan?"

Tan hesitated. "Comrade….I think…."

Rick was more forceful…."Tan? Do you want to live?"

"I think we all want to live Comrade…" Rick gave Tan a slight slap in the face.

"You can drop the "comrade" garbage Tan….it's just you and me, not the fricken party, not fricken Hanoi….do you….want…..to live? Because if you follow what the party tells you? You will die needlessly and I will be very upset. The only way we can liberate our country is for us to live and the Americans to suffer enough so they will go home and they will not go home unless we kill enough of them….do you understand? Being dead solves nothing."

Tan looked around. "Won't we get in trouble if we don't follow orders?"

"You can't get in trouble if you're dead." Rick replied. "Besides, after you bring down your first American plane? Eeeh….trouble seems to be the least of your worries."

Tan smiled. "Then I will follow you Comrade Tan…and make trouble for the Americans."

Rick smiled and rubbed his hand through the young pilot's hair. "You gain wisdom Tan, I'll make a good wise ass out of you yet."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **5:30 am**

 **USS Midway on Yankee Station**

 **Flight Quarters for Alpha Strike One.**

" **VAAAAAAAAOOOOOMMMMM!"** Mitch and Dan's Phantom shook as they waited behind the raised jet blast deflector and watched another Phantom being thrown off the ship by the left catapult. The Midway might have been smaller than her sisters and only had two catapults to the four of the larger carriers on Yankee Station but no one disputed the ship's ability to rapid fire her launches. A plane thundered off the deck every 45 seconds, so fast that the cat officer should have spun himself dizzy as he whipped around from one launched jet to another waiting to go.

Mitch powered his F-4 to the port cat and it wasn't long before he was saluting the Cat Officer and being pushed back into his ejection seat as the Phantom was slung into space.

"Pop, heading is 015, distance 5.0 to way point two then turn 30 degrees left to 310 for 10.5 miles to rendezvous at 20,000 feet." Dan said as he transferred directional information from his computer in the back seat of the Phantom to Mitch's compass and radar in the front seat.

"I have the data." Mitch replied as he watched the changes to the indicators that pointed the new steering data and turned the Phantom as called for. Mitch switched his radio to beyond the cockpit and called out…"Bottom Shark….Bottom Shark…..answer up and give status."

One by one the other three planes in the low flight FITSWEEP pack answered back with… "Shotgun three, Seven, eight….feet wet (off the carrier) or "upcoming." no guns (no cannons) four AIM-7 (four Sparrow missiles) Four AIM-9 (four sidewinders)."

The job of the shark packs was to sweep ahead of the main attack force and draw the North Vietnamese MIG's into combat, tying them up while their home base was being pounded. All together the eight Phantoms had 16 long range radar guided missiles and 16 short range infra-red missiles but no cannons…a big mistake on the part of those who felt guns were useless in jet planes. Against the Americans of course were the North Vietnamese who flew MIGs that carried both missiles and a good set of 20mm cannons. A distinct disadvantage because if you ran out of these "high tech" pieces of shit (American kill rates in Vietnam with AA missiles sucked) you were totally fucked.

"We're at 15,000 Mitch, rendezvous point now 5.4 miles and closing." Dan called out. "Looks like "Bennies" coming up on our right and six."

Sure enough, Lieutenant Bardett's Phantom slowly came past Mitch on the his right and now flew wing tip to wing tip as they entered a wide circular wheel pattern in the sky to wait on the other two Phantoms of "Bottom Shark"

The radio cracked in Mitch's ears…"Top Shark 41" (41 USS Midway) marshalled at 30,000. What's your sitrep "Bottom Shark 41"?"

Mitch key'd his mic. "Two Phantoms marshalled, awaiting two."

Just then the other two Phantoms of "Bottom Shark" came sliding up on Mitch's left and flew inside the wheel of the first two…

"Augie and Blowtorch are here Mitch." Dan said as he reached down to his time clock on the instrument panel and started moving the needles around…."Bottom shark….setting master clock at zero/zero…..my mark now."

One by one the eight Phantoms of the group replied…"Now….now…..now….now….."

"Course is Two, One, Zero to the beach crossing point. Put on your masks gentlemen, we're entering Tombstone."

The eight F-4 Phantoms began their run towards the coastline of North Vietnam, four at 15,000 feet and four at 30,000 feet with the sun at their backs. The formations were deliberate. Meant to present four American planes to the known spotters but hide the other four higher up. By 1972 the tactic was practically useless as the Vietnamese knew the trick by heart and would report twice the number of aircraft from their spotters to the radar operators who would vector MIG's and send a warning to the numerous SAM sites dotting everywhere from the DMZ on the Mekong Delta to "THUD RIDGE" above Hanoi.

Mitch looked over at Bardett's Phantom and switched his radio. "Hey Bardett? You still pissed off?"

"At the way you treated me? Yeah….not so much what you were trying to do." Bardett replied. "So some of these guys are really that good?"

"They're not stupid." Mitch replied. "Keep this in mind, the MIG 17 is severely disadvantaged. It has a good engine but it can't out climb you. It's also a cable only plane, no boost hydraulics so the pilot has to "muscle sex" it at high speed. He gets tired really quick so try to keep him at full throttle in any fight. More than likely a good Vietnamese pilot will figure out he's flying a piece of shit and he'll duck for the ground and run away. Do not try to missile a MIG-17 at tree top level, getting a good lock is for shit, let the guy go. They can't throw away the MIG-21's they have so we won't see them in a prolonged attack. The Vietnamese will send in the MIG-17's first and keep us occupied then the MIG 21's will rush in and try to ambush us.

Dan spoke to Bill "Puddy Cat" Anderson, Bardett's RIO. "Bill? Keep your head on a swivel at all times between your radar and the surroundings. Watch for the closest MIG but don't forget that these guys like to hug the ground and sneak up from below. Above all else, keep your pilot in the game….talk to him….feel free to insult his manhood."

"Don't listen to Tweety." Mitch snorted. "Everything he says is a lie."

Dan smirked. "Subic and the tranny at Old Crow's bar."

"Dan? You shut the fuck up or so help me I will eject you into the God damned sandy beach of Hanoi."

Puddy cat replied. "Uh…we don't have much time for stories Tweety."

"No really….it's a short one." Dan replied.

"Dan? I'm warning you…shut…the fuck up." Mitch snarled. "Stay to the mission."

 **Flashback**

 **Five months back**

 **US Naval Base at Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines.**

It was another fun evening at the "Disneyland of the Far East" known as Olongapo. This city on the Island of Luzon in the central Philippines was a well-kept secret among Sailors, mostly from wives, children, priests, the pope, other girlfriends and the American public. Here in this hot, sun swept corner of the Southwest Asian Pacific, a man could get drunk and fuck his brains out with young brown Asian women for nothing more than a five dollar bill in his pocket. Sailors and soldiers coming from the hell hole of Vietnam crossed the "Shit River" bridge outside the main gate of Subic and into a constant 24 hour industry of sex and beer, which were impossible to drain no matter how men tried. Most left plenty broke of cash, empty of being horny and more than often carrying a few nasty sexual diseases as gifts from the local population of hookers. If there was one place on earth that God might drop his first holy nuclear weapon upon? Subic was ground zero.

Mitch and Tweety wandered about the main dirt drag of Olongapo's Magsaysay drive where every building held a bar or a hotel for a four hour or all night room charge where a man could take his paid for little brown girl and do what he wanted to her. Mitch was determined to get Dan to "fall from grace" as he had only been recently married before their deployment to the Pacific and at the moment knew no other girl nor did he care for any they might meet. "You need to lighten up Danny boy." Mitch said as he wrapped an arm around Dan's shoulder and took him into the "Old Crow" which was off the beaten path and not as crowded as the main bars on the "say say" strip.

The "Old Crow" was actually a split level bar with a boxing ring down below where the Philippines would have demonstration bouts and Americans would have impromptu smoker matches to work out their pent up aggressions. Above the ring on the second floor was a nice beer garden catered by well dressed waiters in white uniforms and small "Philipina" women that while dressed conservatively in beautiful flowing dresses were your standard "whores" which you'd pay a "bar fine" to take them out of work to a room. The "fines" cost ten dollars for four hours or thirty for an all night affair.

CCR (Credence Clearwater Revival) was playing as Dan and Mitch found a table near the banister that overlooked the street below and quickly ordered a pair of "Red Horse" piss beers from a white uniformed Waiter. It wasn't long before a girl came squealing up to Mitch…

"Mitchy! I missed you!" The girl said as she wrapped her arms around Mitch's shoulders. "You going to Vietnam soon?"

Mitch smirked back. "Now Angie, you know I can't tell you that."

Angie smiled back. "You go in two days, have four line periods with two more trips back here then you go home….Am I close?"

Dan bit his lip. "What the fuck? Didn't anyone understand OPSEC? How did she find out?"

Mitch laughed. "Dan…every girl here is a KGB agent, a CIA agent and on the tab of the Republican National Committee…sheesh….how we can keep anything about this place from getting back stateside is amazing." Mitch then pointed to Angie's chest. "Angie? This is Tweety, my RIO…he's a cherry boy."

"I'm married and I'm not interested." Dan snorted.

Angie walked up to Dan and played with his hair while he fussed. "Oh come on Tweety, you no need to fuck if you don't want to? We are experts in massage here too, rest your stressed out body….make you cum even without sex because we are soooooo good at massages…."

Dan snorted at Mitch. "Some times man…I just want to fucken shoot you." Dan downed his beer and asked for another one.

Mitch warned him. "Yo Dan? These Asian beers are a bit toxic so I'd be careful? You'll get hammered fucken quick."

"I can handle my beer…..Pop." Dan snorted back. But it didn't take long for Tweety to get smashed and soon the restraints of sobriety gave way to wandering hands and the touch of a little brown beauty named Faulina….

"Why you called Tweety?" The girl asked as Dan downed another beer.

"Because….of my blonde hair." Dan replied. He forgot all the worry and rested himself in the arms of the much younger girl and wondered in his haze…"Sheesh….is she fucken 12?"

He looked over to see another girl sitting on Mitch's lap and the two were "getting it on" with exchanges of kisses between them. "Awww….Pop…..you're a lovely couple."

"She just started working here." Mitch replied. "Got the voice like an angel."

Dan smiled widely and laughed….because he was plastered. In almost falling off the chair he was sitting in, he knocked his Red Horse beer to the floor…"Shit….beer abuse….gotta buy another round." He said as he reached down for the bottle and just happened to turn his head at the right time to catch a glimpse of what was under the skirt of the girl who was kissing Mitch… Dan had to double take the moment before sitting up and resting his head on his upraised palms over the table…."Uh?...Pop?"

Mitch was busy giving his "girl" attention.

"Pop?" Dan asked again.

"I'm busy Tweety." Mitch replied.

Dan tilted his head. "Ok….uh…..uh…that girl of yours man? She's an "it"." Dan said pointing.

"What the fuck are you talking about Tweety?" Mitch replied. "Stop talking out your ass?"

"Mitch?" Dan said more forcefully…."Dude? That "girl" has a bigger Johnson than I got."

Mitch cocked his head. "I told you not to drink those beers so fast."

Dan slammed his hands on the table and snapped out…"Mitch! She's got a fricken dick dude!"

Mitch gave Dan a look of horror then turned to look into the face of the "girl" who smiled back at him. It was then, in one grace filled moment…as if Mitch were throwing the garbage out…he grabbed up the "he/she" and in one fluid motion…tossed him over the rail of the balcony to a spectacular, undignified crash into a fruit stand a below!"

Mitch unloaded his furious druken anger for all to hear as the transvestite hobbled off the destroyed fruit stand and went limping across the street…

"YEAH! YOU SKIP A MERRY TOON YOU SILLY MOTHER FUCKER! YOU GO SKIPPING AWAY YOU SICK LITTLE FUCK! DON'T LET ME CATCH YOU COMING BACK HERE AGAIN YOU SILLY LITTLE BASTARD!"

Mitch then turned to those who were in the beer garden…"IF ANYONE SAYS ANYTHING ABOUT THIS TO ANYONE ELSE…I SWEAR I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND TOTALLY DESTROY YOU SO THE ONLY THING PEOPLE FIND IS HALF A FRIGGEN TOOTH!"

Mitch then flopped down in his seat and sneered at Dan. "That goes for you too you scheming little fuck."

"Oh what the hell did I do? I didn't have a tranny on my fucken lap!"

 **Forewards**

 **Rick Hunter's house**

Lisa sat in shock…."You gotta be kidding me? Are you serious?"

Rick snickered. "As a heart attack. If he were alive today? Pops would kill me."

Lisa shook her head. "How did he not know?"

Rick sighed. "It's a Hunter curse….the higher the blood alcohol? The lower the I.Q." Rick paused for a moment. "That and it seems we're all locked on the same primal instinct….to get laid." Rick said.

Lisa nodded. "Yup…..been there."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **5:50 am**

 **Xom Thah Village, North Vietnam**

Vuu Huu Si did what he had done every day of his life for the past 55 years, he got up, he grabbed his rusty pale, his fishing pole and he walked five miles to the beach to fish. War? Beh, big deal. Japanese troops? Bah, big deal. Today his nephew Humung followed behind carrying a bamboo back pack and a large spy glass around his neck like some old time pirate. Passing through the opening in the sea wall, the pair walked to the edge of the water where the boy sat in the sand scanning the sky with his telescope while his uncle prepared to make his first cast.

"Are you here to fish or are you here to be lazy and make me upset?" Vuu asked the boy.

"I'm here to see if I can get some money Uncle." The boy said as he stopped to wipe the ends of the spy glass. "If I spot an American formation and report it? We could be paid a hundred American dollars! That's plenty of fish!"

"Bah!" The man replied. "Nothing is ever so easy…have I not taught you properly of the value of hard and honest work with your own hands? Stop with that non-sense and help."

Suddenly the boy put the glass back to his eye and caught the glint of the morning sunlight as it bounced off something in the air…

"WOW!" The young boy exclaimed. "I SEE THEM! I SEE THEM!" He dropped his spy glass, jumped for the basket and pulled an old fashioned crank radio into his lap!

"Whirwhirwhirwhir…" He cranked the handle fast as his Uncle grabbed the spy glass and raised it to see fast flying but growing specks of gray against the clear morning sky. "Have you gotten the air defense office yet?!"

"I'm trying!" The boy snapped. "Gee…suddenly Uncle you're so interested. I thought I was lazy and stupid?"

"One hundred dollars is a lot of money, shut up and get a hold of someone!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **5:58 am**

 **Dom Quing, North Vietnam**

 **People's Air Defense radar post 24**

"Bring….bring…..bring….." The phone rang over and over as the three men manning the control trailer were eating their morning breakfast. "Jin Tau? Get the phone?"

"Jin Tau get the phone, Jin Tau take out the trash, Jin Tau press our uniforms….I am sick of being picked on to do the work of your other two!" The youngest of the three complained.

"We developed this austere pecking order to make you a stronger man Tau." One of the two men eating breakfast at the table said. "Now answer the phone."

Jin Tau snorted. "Sometimes I feel like Cinderella….Some day I will austere your sorry fat hides into a re-education camp….slave drivers." Tau picked up the phone. "Radar defense post 24?"

"I am Vuu Huu Si of Xom Thah! American Air Pirates are crossing over me now! Where's my 100 American dollars?!"

"What? Is this a joke? I don't have 100 American dollars? You better have a good reason for making this worthless call you!" Jun Tau replied snorting. "Hey? I have someone here saying they want 100 American dollars because they see a flight of American Air Pirates."

The other two men fell over trying to get up from their chairs. "Tell him thank you and get the hell over here dumb ass!" They screamed as they scrambled for the control panels with large circular visual screens, knobs, dials and indicators. "Tau?! Get on the vertical asthmas console!"

One of them snapped as he flipped several switches and brought the radar array to life.

To be a radar operator in North Vietnam these days was to have a death wish. The Americans had developed strategies for shutting down or killing the radar nets vital for both vectoring MIG's to their targets or providing tracking for the Soviet SA-2 missile batteries that dotted North Vietnam like the pox. Turning on a radar set could invite a missile or a flying cluster bomb through the cab roof…both not very nice things to think about.

The leader of the three man radar crew grabbed a phone and called Hap Bien Airfield. "Radar station 24…we have two flights of American pirates coming from the sea over Xom Thah…course 300 heading in your direction. The first flight appears to be eight fast moving jets, the second a slower moving force of 15 to 20 jets about ten minutes behind. It looks as if they are heading for you." The radar leader quickly brought the radar down so that the Americans couldn't easy set up a killing attack against it.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:02 am**

 **Bottom Shark flight**

 **Passing over Xom Thah, North Vietnam**

"I've decided to eject you later Tweety. You're too important right now." Mitch said as he looked down at his instruments and took a quick look at the ECM (Electronic Counter Measures) instrument. "They turned off the radar…they're getting better at this game. By now they've called Hap Bien and the pilots are scrambling for their MIGs. Everybody get your masks on, we're going into a gunfight. Bennie and I will go low at 5,000 feet, Augie and Blowtorch go in at 10,000 feet, cover the roof. Shot gun Six and Bottom Shark…..feet dry."

The four F-4 Phantoms punched off their cumbersome and empty external fuel tanks and lit their afterburners as they screamed over the heads of Huu and his nephew!

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:03 am**

 **Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

The air raid siren screamed as the pilots tore out of corrugated buildings and wherever they had been at the moment and ran for their parked MIG-17's on the launching apron. "Rick" caught Tan by his uniform and spun him around…

"When we get off the ground, you follow me, you do what I say, you stay with me….do you understand? Nod yes?"

Tan nodded as "Rick" pushed him to his plane and then ran to his own where his older mechanic handed him his flight helmet. "Ready as always?" Rick asked the old man.

"As good as it can be." The old man replied. "I was able to get the new pistons in place like you asked but I don't know if they'll be compatible with this plane?"

"Knowing your expertise? They'll be very compatible." "Rick" replied as he spun a finger in the air and lit the single engine fighter to life. He pointed at Tan…gave him a three finger signal then tapped his helmet to tell him to switch his radio over to a closed frequency only the two pilots could talk between without interference. "You ready Tan?"

"I'm nervous…" Tan replied.

"Sounds familiar. Trust me…my first time? I pissed my pants." "Rick" replied.

"So how was your first flight?" Tan asked.

"I crashed." "Rick" chuckled. "Crash two more too."

"Oh how reassuring." Tan said with a snicker.

"Just do what I tell you and you'll be fine." "Rick" said as he waved his hand for the ground crew to pull the wheel chocks. Giving his fighter a little thrust, "Rick" started to taxi with the rest of the squadron towards the runway. "Gee, I hope we're not having a "May Day" parade here, "Rick" snorted out. "Any slower and I'll be running to avoid getting strafed."

The MIG pack began to get airborne one after the other as the base loudspeaker blurted out… "Incoming American Bandits! F-4 Phantoms! Glory to our Fatherland! Crush the American dogs!"

"Rick" shook his head. "Yeah right….patriotic slogans against missiles, how useful….how about we just throw rocks?"

When his turn came for the runway, "Rick" gunned his engine into afterburner and pulled hard on the control stick to climb the MIG up and away from the base as fast as he could. "Please tell me you're on my tail Tan?" He spoke into his radio as looked around for his wingman. Tan's MIG slid up on "Rick's" right side looking a little unsteady as the wings wafted up and down. "Breath will you? Don't forget to breath!"

"Sorry." The young pilot replied.

"You crash on me before we meet the Americans and I will pray that your ancestors slap the shit out of you for eternity now calm down and breath." "Rick" watched as his wingman's airplane became more steady.

"Good…" "Rick" replied. "Now switch your radio back to four. When the direction radar calls us to spread out for attack? You follow me, switch back to three and do as I do."

"We're going to attack the Americans right?" Tan asked.

"Not the Phantoms right away." "Rick" replied. "I do not wish to commit suicide so soon do you? No….do as I tell you, forget these incoming fighters."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:07 am**

 **Bottom and Top Shark flights**

 **40 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

Dan clicked on his Internal Communication Switch…."Got flak guns below…looks like medium to heavy caliber guns."

Mitch snorted. "Every farmer and Ox driver with a rifle. Bottom Shark lead to frenzy we got triple A down there so watch for the tracer streams."

Mitch angled his Phantom to the right as a stream of heated yellow tracer rounds arced through the air. He knew for every space between them there were at least 50 or more that he couldn't see and it would only take one lucky shot to make the day's delivery completely suck.

The external radio channel cracked….."Shark flight, Talent (Talent was the code word for the Navy radar plane or E2-C that orbited high above the Tonkin Gulf looking for enemy air activity) multiple bandits, bearing 270, course 090, speed 550 knots closing, angels 6,000 (angels is the altitude call, 6,000 feet)

Mitch tightened his grip on his control stick. "Ok…..they're coming to play ball everyone so let's warm up our bats. Select your "Fox One" (AIM-7 Sparrow radar guided medium range air to air missiles) and get ready to engage."

 **CHAPTER THREE**

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:08 am**

 **Ten aircraft MIG-17 flight out of Hap Bien**

 **North Vietnam**

The MIG-17 "Fresco" (NATO name) was actually an upgrade of the Russian MIG-15 that fought U.S. F-87 Sabre jets over Korea in the early 1950's. While the 17 could carry infra-red missiles (actually poor copies of the American AIM-9 Sidewinder developed by captured German scientists from Nazi Germany) it had no radar and the missiles were all but useless. The 17 however had four 20MM guns and the guns were its best weapon for the kind of warfare the North Vietnamese practiced in the air as well as on the ground; get in close, spoil the American advantages and knife fight. The 17's bad points? Unlike the American F-4 Phantoms, the 17's had no "boost hydraulics" to assist the pilot in controlling the aircraft. The MIG 17 was a "cable and muscle" aircraft (What we in the military called "A hard sex airplane") which performed best at low speed and at high speed was a pilot's worst nightmare. Few experienced Vietnamese dared to get into a prolonged dogfight with American planes beyond 90 seconds. Most often they would jump in, try to use the cannons and escape before the American pilots could resort to their high tech missiles.

But even the American F-4 had its weaknesses. In their short sided belief that the future of air warfare lay in missiles, the Americans didn't load the Phantom with a gun. The missiles were not absolute in their reliability, the AIM-7 Sparrow in Vietnam would kill only 7 percent of enemy planes for the number fired while the AIM-9 Sidewinder would kill only 9% of the time it was fired. Encounters were left to the pilot who better exploited their aircraft and guarded their weakness and two of the best were about to crash into each other over the Yung Jin valley South of Haiphong…or were they?

"Radar Direction Station 17 to MIG flight, disperse and carry out attack operation!" Came the call from the Fire Control radar station that would direct the MIG flight into battle. "Rick" waved three fingers to Tan and switched his radio…"Follow me now!"

As the group of MIG's dispersed in different directions, "Rick" led Tan down towards the Lon Hah river, a small feeder that flowed into the larger and wider Than River that flowed down through Haiphong. The two MIG's flew so low at one point that Tan squirmed about in his seat…

"Are you planning to go rafting here?" He asked nervously.

"Reduce your throttles and lower your flaps." "Rick" said with a snicker. "This is what I call "Lucky fisherman escapes the hungry gulls."

Tan replied. "I call this….foolish Tan crazy enough to follow crazy comrade Dinh."

"It is very simple my friend. Flying this low at this speed will make it very hard for the enemy to separate us from the ground clutter and the sun bouncing off the water will make it even more difficult. Our targets are not the Phantoms….it's the bombers they protect."

"Shit!" Tan swore as two Phantoms screamed over the canopy at 3,000 feet!

"Stay calm…" "Rick" replied. "Just follow the river and it will take us right to the bombers."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:11 am**

 **Bottom Shark Flight 20 miles East of Hap Bien**

 **North Vietnam**

"They just broke apart!" Dan yelped into his radio and he scanned the multiple blips moving around his VDI scope. "I count eight bandits….four have gone high, four low. Four low at 2,000 feet, about 550 knots now splitting into groups of two."

"Which one's do we take on Tweety?" Mitch asked as he rolled the big Phantom around to the left.

"Take the two at ten o clock left. Have our other pair guard the flank and bring Top Shark down to 12,000 feet." Dan rapped quickly as he worked over his radar console. "I have no bandits lower than 1,000 feet, our soles (belly of the Phantoms) are clear. I'm working a solution for a Fox One (AIM-7) shot now."

Mitch switched his radio. "Bennie, cover our six and stay glued on my tail. Don't give these guys a path to slip in behind us. If I can give you a clear shot at one, I'll go off high right or level right and try not to blast you with my exhaust. Set up for a Fox Two (AIM-9) shot because we'll probably be in a knife fight when you get the opening."

"Rodger!" Bennie replied.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:11 am**

 **Doc Tien Hamlett 40 miles East of Hap Bien**

 **North Vietnam**

The ancient 1940's era Russian radio was wired up to a makeshift antenna and crackled to life, startling the man who was for the moment trying to catch a quick nap amidst a morning of action…

"Crackle"…"Hello? Comrade Yin? Are you sleeping again?"

"I was…." Yin replied as he wiped his eyes.

"Please tell me you saw the flight of American Phantoms that flew over your head?" Rick's voice asked nicely. "Or do I have to come and strafe you awake?"

"No….I saw them. Did you get any?" Yin asked as he grabbed his binoculars.

"No moron, I invited them for coffee and doughnuts…how about you get your lazy behind out of your easy chair and look for more planes? Sheesh, and I'm helping you to make extra money?"

Note: One part of the North Vietnamese air defense system during the Vietnam War were the individual peasants who, armed with a radio and binoculars, watched for and reported the movements of American planes. If a spotter could be credited directly with the downing of a US airplane, he would get 100 American dollars…equal to a year's wages in North Vietnam. It was like us winning Mega-Millions today.

Yin scanned the horizon from the hill he was perched upon and caught the incoming second flight of attack planes and their escorts as they came in low over the ground towards him, dodging and jinking around the sky to avoid getting hit by the many anti-aircraft guns scattered about the route…

"Here they come….I see…..some A-6's…..some A-7's and some Phantoms!" Yin said excitedly. "It's payday!"

"Maybe…." "Rick" replied. "Depending on how many we drop. But your wife will enjoy her new dress won't she?"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:14 am**

 **100 feet above the Lon Hah river**

 **10 miles to intercept incoming US bomber force**

 **North Vietnam**

"Rick" Kien Dinh and his wingman Tan Min Quan were still following the small river at a plane's crawl with their flaps extended and their aircraft barely keeping up from stalling into the water…"We have a flight of American planes inbound to us Tan….listen to me very carefully."

Tan chuckled. "Any more carefully and I'll go swimming Comrade."

"The Americans are close. The formation will have some Phantoms in the lead, followed by bombers, followed by Phantoms in the tail. We're going to hit the bombers on the first pass then go after the trailing Phantoms as we come down….do as I tell you."

Tan snorted. "How many times are you going to remind me?"

"If you die Tan, I will make sure the dogs of your ancestors piss all over you!" "Rick" snorted. "Don't get over-confident."

"Will you just shut up and let's get on with this?" Tan protested. "Sheesh for our greatest pilot you sure are a pushy bastard."

 **VAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABOOOOOOM!"** The two MIG's shook as three low flying F-4 Phantoms screamed over the river! "That's it!" "Rick" snapped. "Increase your throttles, pull up your flaps and climb now!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:16 am**

 **800 feet above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **incoming US bomber force, A-6 Intruder 509**

 **North Vietnam**

"Turn towards I.P. (Initial Point to the bombing run)." The Bombardier navigator, who sat side by side with the pilot of the A-6 Intruder, started to count down to where the pilot would roll the bomber into its final attack course began to count down the seconds on his watch as he monitored the map layout on his VDI (Visual Display Information screen)…

"Five…four….three…"

"BAM…..BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!" The aircraft shuddered violently then began to spin as the tail was blown completely off the airframe by the 20 millimeter rounds ripping through the aluminum structure!

"FUCK! I'VE LOST CONTROL! 509 GOING DOWN, 509 GOING DOWN!" The pilot screamed before he reached upwards and grabbed the overhead ejection handles on his seat. The last thing he saw before he was blown through the Intruders glass canopy was a pair of North Vietnamese MIGs screaming past his nose!

Close to the faltering Intruder's right wing was an A-7 Corsair…the word is "was" because the plane "was" there one second and then it "was" gone. A 20 millimeter cannon round had caught one of the 500 pound bombs and blown the jet in half!"

The tail F-4 Phantoms were screaming up on a wild melee as the bomber force broke apart with two planes falling in flames and two MIG-17 fighters rapidly climbing over their heads…

"Tan! Cut your engine and swing the nose…NOW!" "Rick" snapped as he pulled the throttle back, kicked the rudder, threw the control stick to the right and tumbled the MIG-17 into a sharp tail whipping snap at the top of his climb! Because of the crazy modifications he'd had done to his fighter, his 17 whipped faster than Tans' but just enough and in enough time for him to send a stream of 20 millimeter rounds into the spine of an overshooting Phantom, ripping the plane apart like a can opener!

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:17 am**

 **Bottom Shark Flight 15 miles East of Hap Bien**

 **North Vietnam**

Mitch saw the green "LOCK" light of his AIM-7 Sparrow indicator illuminate as he rolled behind a MIG-17 trying to go for the ground to confuse the missile among the clutter below…

"FOX ONE!" (AIM-7 Shot) The large medium range radar guided missile was punched off the belly of the F-4 and ignited once the trigger lanyard snapped off the Phantom's launching rack. The solid rocket motor ignited and the missile emerged from under the nose of the F-4 as Mitch rolled the fighter to keep behind the fleeting MIG.

"Solid lock!" Dan yelled from the back seat. "Stay on him Mitch!"

Mitch watched as the Sparrow tracked as the MIG tried to turn away with its' belly to the arcing missile. It didn't escape as the missile's proximity fuse as the warhead detonated close enough to send shards of shrapnel into the wings and through their fuel tanks! The MIG continued flying normally with a rapidly expanding white mist flowing from its ruptured fuselage until the vapors caught heat. A flash of fire and the jet exploded into pieces.

"Good shot Mitch!" Dan yelled as he smacked the back of Mitch's ejection seat. He then scanned around the canopy glass and the radar screen for another target when tracers flew within inches of the glass…"Got one behind us!"

Mitch threw the throttles forwards, pulled on the control stick and stomped the rudder pedals to make the Phantom enter a spinning climb…."Bennie?! Where are you?!"

The radio cracked…"Fox Two!" (AIM-9 Sidewinder) and Dan looked back and above the back lip of the canopy to see the MIG-17 that had been on their tail look as if it were just hanging in space by a string. The poor bastard had tried to match the screaming Phantom's power and instead had opened himself up to both a stall….and a "winder" up his tail pipe. The MIG exploded.

"How'd you like that shot Pops?!" Bennie snickered into his radio. "Treat me like shit again you silly bastard!"

"When we land Bennie, I am so going to stomp a mud hole in you ass!" Mitch replied snarling. "Anyone see any other bandits? I thought we ran into a six pack or more?"

Dan replied. "I think they bugged out."

Suddenly, the radio cracked again…"Iron Four, Iron Four mayday, mayday, mayday our strike has fallen apart! We got two bandits flying all over our ass! We need support now!"

Mitch didn't hesitate, he threw the Phantom hard over and raced pasted Bennie as he came out of a turn. "What the hell Hunter?"

"Turn around and get on my ass! Top Shark stay here and cover Hap Bien in case they get froggy, the air strikes gone to shit in a hand basket. Don't loiter past ten minutes then follow our radio direction to where we're going!"

"They couldn't have come from Bien Pop!" Dan said as he looked down at his radar scope and increased the detection range…"Damn the sky up ahead's a fricken mess!"

"They sure as hell didn't come from Kep or "Fuck them" airfield near Hanoi." Mitch snapped. "Wanna bet this is Cunningham's Colonel Thoon?"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:18 am**

 **5,000 feet above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Vigilante F-4 number 408**

 **North Vietnam**

The pilot stressed against the G Forces pressing him down into his ejection seat as he tried to roll behind the MIG-17 he was chasing. "Come here you little prick! Fucken dink cock sucker!"

His RIO was urging him to break the chase as he snapped his head to the right and watched another A-7 get torn apart by the guns of the MIG's wingman. "Disengage Dog!"

"Grrrrr…what the fuck! A damn MIG 17 isn't supposed to be able to turn this tight!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:18 am**

 **5,000 feet above the Lon Hah river valley**

" **Rick's" MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"Oh Tan? Are you done showing off yet? Can you kindly get this crazy American off my ass?" "Rick" snapped. He could sense the frustration he was causing when the American tried to shoot off one of those Sparrow missiles in desperation…the rocket flew off the Phantom and dove for the ground because the tight turn was too much for the locking track to hold. Rick reversed himself, threw the MIG sharply to the right and into a climb and the Phantom streaked by with Tan right behind it…

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:18 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Tan's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"OH SHIT!" Tan exclaimed as he had to suddenly pull back on his stick and climb! The F-4 pilot had forgotten where he was in all the fog of trying to catch "Rick's" MIG that he went tree surfing! Tan pushed his nose back over just in time to see the Phantom struggling to stay in the air and trailing smoke behind the engines. The jet fighter had ingested tree branches and probably a few monkeys. "What a stupid moron!" Tan snickered as he turned to pursue the wounded Phantom.

"What are you doing?" "Rick" asked through the radio.

"Chasing them!" Tan replied. "They just damaged their own plane and now I got an easy kill!"

"Break off and let them go!" "Rick" snapped as he dropped his MIG in front of Tan's. "Stick to the mission and keep after the bombers, I will handle the fighters!"

Tan snorted back. "I thought these Americans were supposed to be the most deadly pilots in the world? I'm not impressed at all."

"You watch enough John Wayne movies and you'll regress in intelligence too….like watching our own propaganda films. Don't get cocky!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:20 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch and Dan's F-4**

 **North Vietnam**

"I got two low flying targets!" Dan blurted into his radio. "Strike package, clear out, clear out….we're on our way in!"

Mitch gritted his teeth. "Son of a bitch it looks like someone shook up a fricken fish bowl!"

Mitch and Bennie were flying right into a confusing mess of scattered aircraft with two or more trying to hobble about from damages to their engines while others were trying to re-organize against their pesky twin antagonists. Mitch chose one of the MIG's at radom and set up a screaming fly by pass so close that he could have clipped a wing off!

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:20 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Tan's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

Tan turned his head and got a face full of F-4 Phantom as the fighter screamed past him and threw his small fighter around like a piece of paper in a wind tunnel. In the struggle to control his jet….Tan happened to catch a glimpse of the decorated intake vane on the Phantom's right side…

"SHIT! THAT PHANTOM HAS 13 STARS ON IT"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:21 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"What?" Rick asked as he whipped his MIG around. "What was that?"

"The Phantom that just blew by me has 13 kill stars on it!" Tan replied nervously.

"Ah…..the Widowmaker." "Rick" thought to himself. He quickly did a count check around the canopy glass….."One….two….thee…..maybe more? Uh….Tan? Break out of here and go home, I will cover you."

"But? But I want to keep fighting!"

"Shut up and go home!" "Rick" snapped. "Don't disobey a direct order! This "Widowmaker" is not to be played with….unless you got the experience to match…which you do not comrade!"

Tan pushed his throttles to the max and fled to the West as "Rick" snap rolled his MIG over the top of Bennie's Phantom! "What about you?!" Tan pleaded. "Are you crazy?"

"I'll be fine. You just get home!" Rick snapped as he trailed Bennie.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:23 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

" **Bennie" Bardett's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

Bill "Puddy Tat" Anderson was swinging his head from left to right trying to keep track of the wild flying MIG-17 trailing behind their Phantom…"Damn! Come on "Bennie"! He's kissing our tail!"

"Mitch! Where are you?! I got this little bastard on my ass!" Bennie yelled as he cut the throttles, hit the speed brakes and tried to force an overshoot…

"What the fuck?!" "Puddy" screamed. "How the hell is this little gook fuck still trailing us?!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:24 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

"I'm coming down on top of him now Bennie!" Mitch snarled as he lined up his HUD aiming circle to get a shot on the pursuing MIG…."Bennie! When I tell you, come hard right and hard up!" Mitch selected a Sidewinder rail for a short distance shot.

"What the hell?" Dan snapped as he strained to look past Mitch's seat back. "That MIG 17's fast! The friggen impossible!"

"I told you not to short change these people!" Mitch yelled back as he listened to the shrill tone of the sidewinder's detection sensor. "Come on….give me tone!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:25 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

" **Rick's" MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"Rick' saw Mitch's Phantom screaming down from above and patted his throttle…"Let's see how this stuns you Widowmaker?"

Just as Mitch got the solid steady tone he was waiting for, the MIG 17 suddenly sped up and disappeared under Bennie's Phantom!

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:25 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

"Damn!" Mitch gritted his teeth as he watched the MIG 17 speed up and slide under the belly of his wing man's fighter…"Bennie! The MIG just parked itself under your plane! Shake the little bastard out of there!"

Mitch's Phantom passed by the tail of Bennie's fighter and Dan craned his body around to see where the MIG was…"He's tight against your belly Bennie! Punch off a rocket!"

"Oh yeah! Waste a missile? really fricken smart there Tweety!" Bennie snapped back.

As Mitch tried to bring his heavy fighter around, The MIG dropped away from under Bennie's F-4, pitched his nose up and sent a stream of 20 millimeter rounds up into the left engine!

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:27 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Bennie Bardett's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

"EEEP! EEEP! EEEP! EEEP!" The warning alarms and lights lit up Bennie's control panel and the left engine FIRE warning light blazed in a terrifying red glow! "AWWW FUCK! LEFT ENGINE GONE! ELECTRICAL SYSTEMS FALL OUT! LEFT ALERON GONE! SON OF A BITCH!"

"Puddy Cat" frantically went over his switches…"Radar's Gone, compass is gone, Radio is gone!"

Bardett shut down the crippled and bringing right engine and turned the Phantom in the only direction it could move until the flames went out. "We're a one engine mess, we gotta try and make it to the gulf!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:28 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

"Tweety? Where is the son of a bitch!" Mitch asked as he kept looking around. "Damn….that's no ordinary MIG-17 we're dealing with here!"

Dan snarled. "He's a smart shit! I can't find him from all the ground clutter Pops."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:29 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

Using the speed of his diving MIG to add to his thrust, "Rick" bounced the MIG at 500 feet off the ground and shot up like a bullet towards Mitch's Phantom. "Now let's see just how good you really are Widowmaker!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:29 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

" **BOOM!"** The MIG 17 screamed by the canopy before Dan could call it out!

"Crazy fucker!" Mitch snapped as he threw his Phantom hard over and drew a bead with his gunsight ahead of the fast turning MIG…

"Stay on him Mitch!" Dan called. "That's no ordinary 17!"

"You think?" Mitch replied as he chased the small fighter trying to lock a sidewinder on it. "It could be a new modified MIG….come on…come on…..fuck it's hard to lock up this little shit!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:31 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"I;m not going to make it that easy for you! Damn this American ace is good!" "Rick" threw his MIG 17 into a tight twisting corkscrew, backing off and then throwing the throttle back and forth trying to force Mitch into an overshoot. "Staying right on my tail…wait till you try a sidewinder." "Rick" listened as his aural warning noise maker increased in pitch as the Phantom's radar gained a lock for a sidewinder shot.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:33 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

"GROWWWWWLLLLLL" The sidewinder locking tone went steady as Mitch continued to corkscrew roll the Phantom to keep the MIG locked up. "Fox Two!" He snarled as he mashed the red fire button and an AIM-9 Sidewinder flew off on of the missile rails!

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:33 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" "Rick's" aural warning went steady, telling him that a Sidewinder missile was on the way towards his tail. "Oh really? This is going to shock you Widowmaker." "Rick" mashed a button on the side of his control stick and the MIG shot out a pair of red hot flares from its tail.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:34 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

Mitch suddenly saw a pair of hot flares drop from the MIG's tail and he punched the top of the flight console in anger…"YOU GOTTA BE FUCKEN KIDDING ME!"

Dan yelled. "What's up!"

"The prick has flares and chaff! The winder just went stupid!" Mitch snarled. "We're in deep shit!"

Dan gasped. "But the MIG 17 doesn't have…."

"Don't talk stupid shit while I'm flying Tweety!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:35 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"Did that leave an impression?" "Rick" laughed. "I bet he's really pissed off now." "Rick" pulled his stick, mashed the rudder pedals and it looked to Mitch as if the MIG did a set of crazy summersaults before it rocketed back towards him. "My turn to play." "Rick" started to play around with his radio as he chased the Phantom through a bunch of crazy rolls and turns.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:37 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

"The little bastards behind up Mitch!" Dan yelled. "Come on man….calm down and do some of that whacky barnstormer shit you tell me about."

Mitch snickered. "Hold on to your ass Tweety. Little fucker wants to play? Fine. Let me introduce you to an American carnival ride called the crazy spider!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:38 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"Rick" started sending a stream of 20 millimeter cannon rounds at the Phantom when it suddenly went crazy…."OH FUCK!"….The Vietnamese pilot screamed as the out of control tumbling F-4 almost creamed him! "Damn! You crazy son of a bitch! Go ahead and crash your damn plane!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:39 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

"ARE YOU CRAZY!" Dan snapped as he was tossed all over the back seat as the F-4 went out of control and rolled, spun and flipped…backwards?" You can't do this to a Phantom! We're dead!"

"NEVER TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO! DON'T JINX ME TWEETY!" Mitch snarled as he fought with the controls, allowed the heavy fighter to dip it's nose for the ground and pulled it out just before it hit the trees! "IT'S A MCDONNEL DOUGLAS MOTHER FUCKER!" The Phantom screamed back into the air as Mitch selected another Sidewinder. "Ok punk, you think you're smart? Out run two bitch! FOX TWO! FOX TWO!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:39 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE….!" "Rick" looked back to see two Sidewinders flying off the Phantom. "Oh a two shot? You're really serious about this aren't you?" He swung his control stick, stomped on his rudders, pulled back his throttles and flipped out his speed brakes….

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:40 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

Mitch watched the MIG tumble ahead of him, spraying flares out like a bursting fireworks rocket and the Sidewinders de-locked and screamed into the ground below…

"ARGH!...This little bastard's crazy!" Mitch snapped as he tried to roll his Phantom back into a pursuit as the MIG tumbled below him!

"He's coming back around on us Mitch!" Dan snapped. "Turn….turn, turn, turn!"

The Phantom suddenly shuddered as several 20 millimeter cannon rounds smacked into metal.

"We're hit!" Dan yelled.

"Where?" Mitch replied. "No lights, no lights….Engines still ok, hydraulics ok, fuel ok…."

Suddenly….the radio cracked….."Haaaaaaaroooooow!"

Mitch clicked his radio. "Who are you?! Get down here and give us a hand!"

"Oh…..so sorry…." The voice replied. "Seems you're all alone there horrywood."

Dan clenched his teeth. "Mitch? That's a Vietnamese voice."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:41 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"So you're the "Widow maker"? I'm only slightly impressed." "Rick" said as he stayed a little behind and under Mitch in a hard banking turn. "How do you like my sports car there Hollywood?"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:41 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

"Show yourself and I'll show you how I feel." Mitch replied angrily.

"I thought you American were more hospitable with first greetings? You are quite the pilot there Horrywood…unlike your friends."

Mitch turned his head to suddenly see the MIG 17 flying on his wing. The Vietnamese pilot was making mocking gestures with his fingers…

"What are you doing?" Mitch snorted. "Stop fucking around and get on with it!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:43 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Rick's MIG 17**

 **North Vietnam**

"Oh no….I'd much rather get to know you since you are the best super shit hot pilot I have ever faced. I don't want to end the fun so soon, fighting you Americans has become rather boring as hell."

Rick sped up and zipped past Mitch to slide right in front of his plane's nose. "Here….I give you free shot there Horrywood." "Rick" wiggles his wings. "Come on….me so willing for some American missile love!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:45 am**

 **Above the Lon Hah river valley**

 **Mitch's F-4 Phantom**

 **North Vietnam**

Dan snapped and smacked the back of Mitch's seat. "Stop letting him talk Mitch! Kill that little fuck!"

Mitch waited for the Sidewinder tone to go steady and mashed his fire button. Then he mashed it again. And again. And again…

"Fuck!" Mitch snarled.

"Awwwwwww." The MIG pilot said through the radio. "What wong there Horrywood? Missile no worky? Must be as bad as your sex life huh?"

"You little fucken cocksucker." Mitch snapped as the MIG slipped back to fly next to the Phantom.

"I let you live Hollywood…only because I like you….you make me laugh. See you later there Horrywood."

Mitch watched the MIG 17 peel away and disappear. "Dan?"

"Yeah Pops?" Dan replied.

"If I ever meet that pilot in real life? I might buy him a beer…..after I kill him."

Dan snickered. "With your luck? Your kid will end up just like that."

"If he does? I'll kill him." Mitch snorted back. He then turned his Phantom back towards the Tonkin Gulf. "I hope Benni made it back."

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **May 20, 1972**

 **7:35 am**

 **Hap Bien Air Base**

 **North Vietnam**

Tan came running up to the MIG-17 as it came to a stop on the parking apron and bounded up the side as "Rick" stood up in his ejection seat and calmly shrugged at him. "Well?" He asked the excited young pilot.

"I got four! What a rush! I couldn't stop shaking when I got out of the plane!" Tan bounded down and allowed "Rick" to climb out…

"I got six." "Rick" said smiling. His elderly mechanic looked over the MIG and pointed out a few punch holes in the airframe….

"Looks like you got hit a few times by missile shrapnel." He said. "Nothing vital got struck, you were very lucky."

Other pilots and crews came running up and mobbed the ace pilot with Tan trying to push them off…"Get off of him! Let him breath you fools!"

One yelped. "Did you see the "Widow maker"? Did you kill the bastard?"

"Rick" perked up. "No…he is a most worthy adversary. I have never seen an American do so many crazy things with a Phantom. I took Tan here and we hit the American's bomber force and tore it up."

The old man patted the MIG. "I'm going to have to repaint the plane for more room. If you keep this up? There won't be Americans left for everyone else."

"Rick" shrugged. "I don't hear any complaints."

Just then, the political commissar came stomping up. "Comrade Dinh! You and your wingman WILL report to the Commander…..now!" He wasn't happy at all.

Tan looked at "Rick". "You said we wouldn't get in trouble?"

"I may have been a little exaggerated with that." "Rick" replied smiling.

"If I end up in Hon Loi Prison because of you Comrade Dinh, I will hate you into the afterlife!"

"Rick" rubbed the young pilot's head. "I'll accept the responsibility. I'll tell them I threatened you."

Both pilots walked to the corrugated hut and knocked on the door, waiting for the Commander to answer…

"Get in here." The man said. "Rick" and Tan marched inside and stood at attention. "Comrade Lieutenant Dinh and Comrade Junior Lieutenant Tan reporting Sir!"

The commander of the air base was also no pilot, which made "Rick" disgusted. This was some infantry hack ground eater who didn't know a damn thing about planes but like the political commissar and the other so called "leaders" he was just another hand picked, self described expert who thought everything he knew about ground combat could certainly be applied in air warfare. Case in point, the just ended mission…the squadron had been chewed to pieces. Of the ten MIGs that went out? Only three returned and of the three only "Rick" and Tan escaped being chewed up. That's what usually happens when MIG's went up against Phantoms high on "communist spirit" and "piss and vinegar" war slogans.

The Colonel tapped his fingers on the desk angrily. "So….between you two we have nine American planes down…that would be a nice number….IF WE DIDN'T HAVE EIGHT MIGS SHOT TO HELL!"

The officer stomped up to "Rick"…"You just enjoy violating orders and regulations don't you Comrade Dinh? Answer me you stupid little fuck!"

"Rick" snapped back. "Comrade Commander….you have an airbase which was not touched because myself and Junior Lieutenant Tan realized the main threat and broke up the American attack. Regulations do not allow me to exercise better judgement for the sake of my fellow pilots, I had to act to protect this vital base."

"You acted for yourself!" The Colonel snarled. "Another five kills to add to your total and I have a base with no planes you little idiot." The man quickly jumped on Tan. "And what was your excuse?"

"Comrade Commander!" Tan replied. "I followed Comrade Dinh because…..because I am infatuated with his skill and my selfish drive failed my comrades…..Sir!"

"Well….at least someone can be truthful around here?" The officer snarled.

"Rick" had enough of it…."Comrade Commander…can you explain why I have no authority to protect the lives of my fellow pilots? Why I am passed over for command of a unit?"

The officer replied. "Well your disrespect is one thing."

"No…." "Rick" snapped. "No…it's probably because my mother is a foreign born slut who gave birth to a half breed child and anyone knows that a half breed born son of a French cunt could never be any better than a member of the Vietnamese Communist party…oh no way in hell. We don't need an experienced son of a French whore trying to save the lives of countless pilots being sacrificed for the glorious cause of universal communism…not that Karl Marx a Germanic Euro-cocksucker would ever come before the people of Vietnam…"

"Silence!" The Colonel snapped.

"No damn you!" "Rick" snapped back. "I'm done being silent and watching good pilots being slammed into the ground over all Vietnam just so stupid dumb fucks like you can get personal with some party politburo faggot in Moscow! I'm in this war to clean out the European American vermin from our land, what the fuck are you fighting for?!"

The Colonel stood boiling…"If you were not so important to us right now, I would have you shot."

"Me too Sir?" Tan asked as he pointed to himself.

"Grrrrr….GET THE HELL OUT OF MY OFFICE! BOTH OF YOU! NOW!"

Tan followed "Rick" out of the building. "They're going to arrest us…they're going to arrest us and throw us in prison….I don't want to go to prison….Comrade Dinh!"

"Rick" stopped. "They won't throw us in prison….they know better than that."

Tan walked in front of "Rick"…."Comrade? You are not the son of a whore."

"Rick" smiled. "Yeah….I'm the dirty son of a foreign whore, a half breed piece of shit…but the Americans probably think the same thing so….I kinda think it's a badge of honor to piss a lot of people off."

Tan smiled. "I'll but the beer."

"Good…." "Rick replied. "because I'm flat broke."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **8:07 am**

 **USS Midway on Yankee Station in the South China Sea**

Scooby bounded up the side of the Phantom the moment Mitch and Dan raised their canopies. "Sir, are you ok?"

"We're alive." Mitch replied as he pulled off his helmet and shook his head. "I got three more Scooby but the rest of the flight was insane."

"No kidding." The Plane Captain replied as he climbed down. "The strike got chewed up. We lost some F-4's, A-6's and A-7's…the Air Force trying to rescue some of the pilots now."

Mitch started looking around his fighter. "Did Mister Bardett make it back?"

"He had to punch out off the port side." Scooby replied as he looked under the Phantom. "Shit….look at this Mister Hunter!"

Mitch crawled under the fighter to see the multiple bullet holes that had punched through his pylons which held the Sidewinders. "Well I'll be blasted….that skillful little prick."

Scooby put his finger into one of the holes and Mitch pulled him back. "Don't do that again Scooby…if there's any voltage left? You might complete a screwed up circuit and then we're all fucked."

Dan came up behind Mitch. "What gives?"

"The little prick shot out our pylons. No wonder we couldn't "fox two" off the rails. And this is fine aiming…not a shot into the plane itself and he hit every pylon precisely."

Scooby blew a breath. "That's some pilot."

Dan snorted. "Yeah….so much for Randy Cunningham's bull shit story about Colonel Thoon. This guy is the real Colonel Thoon."

Mitch turned to Scooby. "Do a good inspection for me Scoob and get the gripes to maintenance so we can be ready to go again."

"Yes Sir!" Scooby replied. As he started looking over the Phantom, Mitch pulled Dan aside…

"Tweety? Don't say anything at de-brief about the Vietnamese pilot cracking our radio freeks."

"Why not?" Dan snorted back. "This is serious Mitch! If he's got our freeks, he could be intercepting every strike transmission…"

"Then where's the evidence that he's been doing that? Oh no….I think this pilot's been saving his little tricks for us personally. He wants to play baseball? Then we'll bring our glove and ball. We each only need one good opening and I intend to be the first one to get there."

"Fine." Dan replied. "Not like I haven't followed your crazy ideas before."

Making their way down to the 151 ready room, Mitch and Dan turned in their flight gear, checked in their pistols and stuck their heads into Skipper Wise's office. "I just got back from meeting with the Carrier Air Group Commander (CAG) I think every pant leg is drenched from here to fricken D.C., don't need to tell you that the strike went to shit."

Dan snorted. "Scale of one to ten a damn twenty."

"So tell me about this little "dink" cocksucker Mitch." The Commander asked.

Mitch didn't appreciate the racial slur at all, the enemy deserved respect especially one this dangerous. "The pilot Sir is one of the baddest North Vietnamese I have ever faced. Not just the pilot but the plane he's flying. No MIG 17 should do what that plane did, it's not a new design or modification by the Soviets because we would see more of them. And he's fricken accurate with his guns, he damaged our missile pylons and missed the rest of the plane. The pilot has talents."

Wise tapped his desk. "Well the little monkey cock sucker certainly knows his tactics, slid right under our fighter cover and rained hell. Question is…we killed eight MIG's on this mission and we've never encountered a die hard commie who ever broke the rules, individuality is not a commie trait."

"If you ask me…we're not dealing with a "commie" in a sense Sir. This guy is out to win and he's out for blood. My guess if he's a rebellious pilot, Uncle Ho could care less."

Dan was wondering if the Skipper was going to chuck them into another Phantom since the rescue missions were probably still on going…"Skipper? Are we going back out?"

"Right now? No. You're both stuck with paperwork and G2 (intelligence) wants to talk to you both about our problem child "gook" fucker. Let Cunningham's squadron off the Connie (USS Constellation) deal with him."

Mitch snorted. "Yeah right…Cunningham will be too busy trying to get pictures with the guy while he smokes his ass hole."

Wise laughed. "I wonder how "The Duke" will do in the Hanoi Hilton? Do you think he'll keep shooting his mouth off?"

"Oh hell no." Mitch replied. "He'll probably con the prison warden into a movie deal or get shot telling the North Vietnamese that their pilots suck. At least we won't have to listen to him babble on with Stars and Stripes."

Wise waved a hand. "You two go get these requirements done and get some rest. You'll probably have one more flight mission before we leave the line and go back to Japan."

"The never ending burocracy. We kill more trees than we kill the enemy." Dan snorted.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **2:37 pm**

 **USS Midway on Yankee Station in the South China Sea**

 **Ship's library**

Very few spaces on such a small aircraft carrier could offer one a little silence to think to himself than the Library or the ship's chapel and Dan Fokker needed the time to decompress and write after what had been an insane morning. That pilot had them dead. Dan wished he would have just done something instead of being an ass and fooling around but with all the kill stars covering his fuselage…Dan thought maybe the guy felt deserving of some foolishness. Mitch was good but given the talent this Vietnamese pilot showed and the plane he was flying; things were looking even matched,if not a little lopsided. This was causing Dan to bite his nails; something he never did before, as he tried to write to his wife…Clare.

 _Hi Sunshine,_

 _The good news is that we'll soon leave our line period and return to Japan just in time for me to meet you and Roy. I know how much stress you're going through having to move from California to our new house in Atsugi, I promise you I will take thirty days leave the first day we arrive in Yokosuka and I will spend every moment giving you and Roy everything you deserve. I want to take you all over Japan, to Tokyo, Yokohama, Hokkaido and I promise…Mitch won't come._

 _Oh yeah…Mitch is still single and still crazy. We came back from a mission today and he bagged another 3 MIGs, that's….wow…I've forgotten how many he's shot down. I say we let Roy go with Mitch for a couple of days and let him spoil the boy rotten while you and I go to Tokyo, rent a hotel room, go out on the town for the night and burn the hotel down making hot love._

 _God I miss you…..I miss you….I miss you so much. I don't think the war can go on much longer; the North Vietnamese really stomped on their nuts this time with this invasion; we are really slaughtering them from the air. Nixon is staying to his promise of turning everything on the ground over to the South Vietnamese…except for the Air Power. Right now our carriers and the Air Force are all that stands between the North Vietnamese and a complete collapse of the South and the war might last for us much longer than the Marines. Keep praying for us. I'm not too worried, Mitch is a bad ass pilot with a good mind and he's so calm in the cockpit and so good at what he does…you just keep throwing those prayers for us ok?_

 _Roy? I hope you're behaving yourself little man and helping your mother move to Japan. I think you are going to enjoy yourself in Japan, knowing how much you like the cartoons. I talked to Uncle Mitch and he promises that when we get home he's going to take you for a ride in our Phantom. Because you're still small, he can't take you flying but I think he can get the plane fast enough to make you happy. Behave yourself and be a good man for your mother ok?_

 _Love you both…many kisses and hugs_

 _Danny_

Dan folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, taking a moment to sit and look at it as he thought if he said the right things. God forbid they get shot down and this would be the last letter the wife and the boy would get from him. He didn't dwell to long on the thought as he slipped the letter into his chest pocket and walked down to the post office, passing through the aft hanger bay which was full of Sailors working over the various fighters and bombers…

"Hey Fokker?!" Came a voice from behind. Dan turned to see Bennie's RIO Bill Anderson came running up. "You guys tangled with that crazy MIG 17 didn't you?"

Dan patted Bill's shoulder…"I'm glad to see you Bill…sorry about your bird."

"The ejection ride sucked but it was better to punch out low and slow next to the "Mud duck" than end up in Han Lo prison. So what was it like? That's no ordinary MIG 17."

Dan leaned against an A-6 Intruder. "No…Mitch doesn't think it's a Soviet rebuild. This Vietnamese pilot's no fool, certainly not a novice and no textbook commie. I'm starting to think he's a Russian or perhaps some Mongolian."

"How bad did he nail your fighter?" Bill asked.

"He shot up our missile pylons. Damn good shot. He knew where to place his bullets."

Anderson pursed his lips. "He's got Bennie spooked…he's thinking about throwing away his commission."

"Not the first pilot who's had that problem. This war's done a number on so many navy pilots. I think we're probably coming to the end of it, at least as far as on the ground with us beating the snot out of the NVA but you know the South can't survive unless it has air support."

Bill nodded. "To be honest? I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the money. This war's been stupid from the start. Washington doesn't know how to fight it It ate up Lyndon Johnson, it has the country going to hell, what reason left is there to still be here?"

Dan pursed his lips. "The ground pounders. I agree with Mitch, as long as the Marines and the Grunts are still on the ground here? We have to be here. They got thrown into the stupid shit, we have to share it with them till they get sent home. You ever seen Mitch get pissed off at all the "Gook" "Gomer" "Slope" shit?" Those Vietnamese pilots are just like us, they're only flying because they have too and they are certainly no different from us. Mitch is just old fashioned, all he sees is a pilot in a fighter plane and that's how he treats them."

"You wonder if our hot shot North Vietnamese pilot thinks the same way?" Bill asked before he bid Dan a "See you later" and walked off.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **4:17 pm**

 **Hap Bien Airfield**

 **North Vietnam**

"Rick" was sitting in his room trying to write a letter to his parents when he was interrupted for about the hundredth time by someone wanting him to go and speak at the pre-dinner party (Communist Party) Rally despite the fact that months earlier he'd been exempted because he complained that such things were disrupting his need for peace and concentration. This time however it was Tan poking his head in…

"Ok….who put you up to bothering me?" "Rick" asked.

"No one." Tan replied. "I was just wondering why you don't bask in the glow of admiration? Even the Americans are talking about you! We picked up Radio Saigon? Howard K Smith called you the greatest combat pilot since the Red Barron!"

"Exaggeration. Howard K Smith is about as worse a tall tale teller as Walter Cronkite." "Rick" snorted. "I don't do parties."

Tan pulled a chair over. "You are the most anti-hero, hero I ever met."

"I'm also the most anti-war hero you've ever met. I don't think you should stay too close to me Tan since I like to skirt the ire of Hanoi as much as the Americans tempt our SAM sites."

Tan shook his head. "Nah….I like the temptation of fate too much. How long can this keep going? The Americans are leaving aren't they?"

"Last time I heard that was Nixon's plan. I don't see the South holding on much longer after the Americans do leave. Question is…how many more are going to die? And while the American Marines might be leaving? That doesn't mean their Air Force will leave too. Our army can't match their firepower."

"So….the war might never end." Tan said.

"Bah….don't be so pessimistic." "Rick" said chuckling. "Sooner or later it'll come to an end when someone in Hanoi suddenly realizes that glorious Communism doesn't fill the wallet. You know I haven't been paid in a month? Did you think I wasn't serious asking for money?"

Tan cocked his head. "What do you do with the money you get?"

"Rick" looked around and pulled a bag out from a box under his desk. "I buy American underwear off the black market. This is like gold currency you know."

Tan shook his head. "You are so weird."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:10 pm**

 **Forward Officer's Mess**

 **USS Midway**

Mitch entered through the elaborately carved entrance door and was immediately beset by an enlisted man dressed in white steward's clothes. "Uh Sir? Pardon me but you're not in proper attire to sit in the officer's mess by regulations."

Inside at one of the tables, another officer waved to Mitch. "It's ok Sailor, I think the rules can be waved in this officer's case." The Midway's Executive Officer, Commander Guy Spraylock, said as he waved Mitch to his table. "I was bound to run into you sooner or later." He said as he extended a hand to Mitch.

"Made "XO" huh? About time they found some use for you Spray." Mitch said snoting.

"Oh fuck you, you old coot." Spraylock replied. "I want to know why you keep telling our ship's public affairs officer to go fuck himself every time he asks you to come down from your exhalted grand imperial throne oh ace of all aces. You blew off Walter Cronkite? No one blows of Walter, Mitch."

"Not even his wife." Mitch snorted. "No wonder why he talks like a faggot. I'm not interested in giving interviews Spray…I'll tell em the truth and get my ass thrown before "COMFLEETFUCKPAC" I don't have time for those little weasel dicks and their self serving political aims, you know better….the press hates this war, they have a political interest in seeing the military fail and every grunt, pilot and MP is a baby killing ass wipe to them so…I'll continue to deny them the benefit of my time."

Spraylock frowned. "You'll even blow off Steve Martin of United World News? He's probably one of the very few civilian reporters who even supports us out here. Like it or not Mitch? We need good press where we can find it."

Mitch snorted back. "Shit…where was that "good press" in 1964 when people found out the Gulf of Tonkin incident that started all this crap was not what Lyndon Johnson proclaimed it to be? We didn't need troops in Da Nang, we didn't need grunts in Vietnam but we've gotten to this point because the press didn't do their damn job. So now they've had a taste of blood for their ratings and their ticker tapes at the stock exchange so now they're all trying to "stop the war."….

"Mitch? Calm down?" Spraylock asked. "Don't make me pull rank and privilege on you and send you home by force? You shouldn't even still be flying out here with so many kills to your credit, You're the coup the North Vietnamese are "jacking off" to have."

"Let them please themselves to hell…" Mitch snorted. "I got my reasons for staying and if you dare pull that USO/Victory/ war bond dance crap on me? I'll beat the ever loving dog shit out of you Spray."

Just then another senior officer came stomping over. "Hey you! I don't know who you are or who you think you are mister but I will not have another officer showing such disrespect in this ward room….do you….."

Spraylock and Mitch booth stood up into the man's face. "Shut the fuck up you God damned sea lawyer! Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up!" Mitch looked at Spraylock with wide eyes. "Damn….we still click after all these years."

"Indeed." Spraylock replied as they watched the angry officer stomp out of the ward room. "He's going to tell the Captain." Mitch warned.

"Look at me and see if I am trembling with fear?" Spraylock said as he played with his cup of coffee. "And what the hell Mitch? You're not married yet? What are you a fucken queer? You'll never make Captain or Admiral unless you have a wife."

"I haven't found "Misses Right" just yet." Mitch replied. "When I'm ready to settle down I will. I don't know how my RIO does it Spray…wife, kid, Navy? The War? What a nightmare."

Spraylock shook Mitch's shoulder. "Will you at least talk to Martin? A brief interview, you can walk out any time you want."

Mitch pursed his lips. "I'll tolerate him for your sake."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:32 pm**

 **Hanger Bay One**

 **USS Midway**

Seaman Scott Morell was just 18. He had dropped out of school to join the Navy because it just looked like the thing to do. He didn't want to graduate and picked up by the Marines for the draft so he just quit school and jointed the Navy. Morell was from Wabo, Idaho, a small town of about 900 people, and had never left beyond his small house much less beyond the little confines of the prairie town. He wasn't looking where he was going and rounding the nose of an F-4 Phantom he ran into one Charles Williams, a tall black sailor from Roxbury Massachusetts…

"Ooof!"…."Sorry about that." Scott said politely. "I didn't see you."

The black petty officer snapped. "Watch where you walk honkey! Damn, they get more stupid every day."

Scott stood looking bewildered. "What did you call me?"

Williams turned around. "I called you a stupid white honkey. Got a problem?"

Scott cocked his head. "What's a honkey?"

William's eyes opened like he'd just been socked. "What?! How long you been on the boat?" Williams turned to another black sailor. "Get a load of this cherry Jordan….mother fucker don't know what a honkey is."

Jordan Dash, a black Sailor from Chicago walked up. "Must be from under a rock stupid white mother fucker. Honkey is you fool…a dumb stupid hick mother fucken honkey."

Scott saw a few other blacks starting to gather in on the conversation. "Look…I don't any trouble…"

Williams smirked. "Than get on your way vanilla Sunday covered in shit white mother fucker."

Scott started to walk off when Williams came up behind him and slapped his shoulder. "Oh…you think you can be cute, acting all dumb ass and rip through my pocket you white cock sucker!"

"What?!" Scott replied in shock. "I didn't touch you."

"Didn't touch me? Then why am I missing 30 bucks from my pocket honkey fucker?"

Williams pushed Scott into a plane. "Give my money back vanilla!"

"I don't have your money!" Scott replied. "I didn't take anything!"

Just then a black chief walked up. "What's going on here?" He snorted.

Williams pointed at Scott…"This mother fucken cracker stole my wallet."

"I didn't touch anything! Chief I swear!" Scott began pulling things from his pocket when the Chief stopped him…

"It's ok son….obviously he didn't take your wallet Williams." The Chief said.

"Oh…so you take the word of this lying, white mother fucker?" The black sailor protested. "You've always been a sick ass uncle tom bitch! Chief."

The black Chief pushed Scott behind him. "You always open your stupid black ass mouth wanting to get it busted up don't you Williams? You better knock down that stupid black ass Malcom X pride talk you stupid dumb bastard or I'll make sure you cease it permanently…"

Williams bucked up to the chief and threw a finger in his face. "I'm gonna kill you one of these days Uncle Tom, you and your little faggot white boy…"

Just then another person entered into the commotion and pushed Williams into a steel wall. "Making threats again Williams? Man you are the dumbest fuck on this whole ship!" A burley white ships security petty officer snapped. "You better cool down!"

Suddenly another black Sailor "haymakered" the white security sailor in the side of the face with a fist punch…"Get your fucken hands off the brother mother fucker!"

The corner of the hanger suddenly exploded as the race brawl went from a few sailors to gangs of Sailors rushing in from every corner of the ship!

Dan Fokker was coming down from the "gun gallery deck" when he found himself trying to scramble out of the way of a back sailor trying to escape a white sailor slashing at him with a hammer! "Oh what the hell?!"

"Shit's gone crazy Mister Fokker!" The black Sailor screamed as Dan threw him behind him and socked the hammer swinging Sailor in the face...

"What the hell started this shit?!" Dan screamed.

"I dunno." The black Sailor yelped. "Not enough damn pussy, booze or what ever the fuck! but people are gonna start killing if this don't stop!"

Dan pushed the black sailor up the ladder. "Get to the bridge! Tell them North Vietnamese gunboats inbound to port! Sound GQ!"

"But there ain't no…." The black sailor replied puzzled.

"Go tell them now before people start dying down here!" Dan threw the Sailor up the ladder then turned around to catch a baseball bat and kick another Sailor down the ladder.

Historical note: Race riots were common aboard US Navy warships in the late 1960's early 1970's. Two of the most violent occurred aboard the USS Saratoga in 1972 and the USS Constellation in 1973.

The black Sailor, Seaman Ezera Thomas, scrambled to the ship's bridge and grabbed the arm of the Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Commander Ardel Jones. "Sir! North Vietnamese gunboats to port! Closing fast! Sound General Quarters! Lieutenant Fokker sent me!"

"Radar! Targets!" The officer shouted to the sailor manning the bridge radar scope. Thomas shook him hard…

"There's no time for that! Sound General Quarters SIR!" Thomas begged.

Jones turned to the boatswain's mate…"Boatswain, sound General Quarters!"

The boatswain mate turned and pulled the General Quarters claxon handle and the gong sounding alarm screamed throughout the Midway….

"Gong Gong Gong Gong" "GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS, ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS! NORTH VIETNAMESE GUNSHIPS INBOUND TOO MIDWAY! MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

The brawl swiftly broke apart as Sailors went running for their battle stations…

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:43 pm**

 **5 inch gun mount, port side**

 **USS Midway**

"Hurry up! Hurry up!" Charles Williams screamed as he pulled Sailor's through the hatch of the 5 inch single gun turret. When he pulled one man through, he did a double take…."You got to be fucken kidding me?"

Scott Morrell looked up and shrugged. "Yeah….I'm a load mount operator. I only got assign here like yesterday."

Williams pushed Scott towards his station. "Do what you know what to do."

Scott answered back. "I thought I was a dumb white honkey?"

"Just shut the fuck up and I might let you live! Silly looking vanilla fudge mother fucker."

Scott started throwing switches and handles…"Shell up the rails!"

Williams threw on a radio headset. "Port side mount one, shell on the tray, ready to load and fire round!"

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:44 pm**

 **Ship's Bridge**

 **USS Midway**

Dan Fokker walked into the bridge as the Captain was taking off his steel battle helmet. "Well well Lieutenant? No North Vietnamese gunboats but your call was a brilliant way to handle a near disaster."

"Inspiration Sir." Dan replied. "I'm reporting myself for conduct unbecoming a Naval Officer. I beat up a few Sailors."

The Captain smirked. "Yeah…haven't we all? At ease Mister Fokker." The Captain grabbed a radio headset…"Attention, Attention…this is the Captain. I understand there was a little trouble in hanger bay one tonight. Apparently some one stole the wallet of one able Gunners Mate Charles Williams? Well Mister Williams? Your wallet was found….sitting on your bunk."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:48 pm**

 **5 inch gun mount, port side**

 **USS Midway**

Williams look around embarrassed. "Damn….now that is one dumb nigger moment."

Scott tried not to laugh. "I wouldn't know….I'm just a stupid hick, silly white vanilla looking dumb honkey mother fucker."

Williams cocked his head at Scott. "Where the hell you from?"

"Oh….Wabo Idaho." Scott replied.

Williams looked at the others in the gun turret. "Can someone please tell me where in the Wizard of mother fucken Oz, over the fucken rainbow in munchkin mother fucker land in hell where Wabo mother fucken Idaho is?"

"Suburb of LA you silly dumb bastard." Another black Sailor said.

"Your mother is a street walker in LA you silly cock sucker." Williams replied. The gun turret broke out in laughter as Williams wrapped an arm around Scott. "Dude? Forgive a sorry ass nigger for making your life so miserable?"

"I'm in the Navy, how bad can it get?" Scott replied.

"Just for that honkey? I'm buying you beer in the Philippines when we get there."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **6:45 pm**

 **Ship's Bridge**

 **USS Midway**

The Captain continued…"Gentleman, I am not going to pursue the persons who caused this disturbance and I warn all those involved? You better have an instant case of super dumb ass amnesia. No one was killed in this incident but look around you right now to the man next to you. This could have been a real deal, we could have been under attack. You're not fighting each other now are you? You all know deep in your own minds that this is OUR home, this is OUR ship and no matter what race you are, if OUR home gets hit, if OUR home gets sunk? WE are ALL fucked! If WE are all fucked? NO God damned skin color is going to save US!"

WE all have to live on this ship and if WE can't live together? Then we'll all be DEAD! And dead gentlemen…..FUCKEN SUCKS! Our country may be screwed all to hell? Back home we might hate each other for the most stupid damn reasons but out here it's either we sail together or we die together and death respects no skin color or your damned pride. Keep that in your minds shipmates."

The Captain waited for a moment to let thoughts sink in. "That is all…Captain out. Secure from General Quarters."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **7:14 pm**

 **VF-151 Ready Room**

 **USS Midway**

Mitch walked into the ready room to see United World News press reporter Steve Martin talking to the Executive Officer. "Lieutenant Mitchel?" The XO said while gesturing. "Mister Martin I believe this is the man you would like to talk too?"

Steve Martin (Played by Ramon Burr in Godzilla) extended his hand. "Sir I represent United World News."

"I know you well Mister Martin. Read your long article in Life about the Battle of Hue in 1968. At least you were fair unlike most people. I didn't read any news about Hue that included the 3,300 South Vietnamese butchered by the NVA. You were reasonably balanced."

Martin nodded. "There's two sides to a war and this war certainly lacks a clear virtue, if you understand my meaning. Both sides are fighting with equal passion and aggression for their aims and the North Vietnamese, if not most Vietnamese feel like the mouse thrown into a room with two angry bull elephants. They've only been fighting foreign adversaries for over a thousand years."

Martin put aside the cigarette he'd been smoking. "Lieutenant…you make an interesting study in character. You're totally 180 out from the many fighter pilots I've talked to..Bob Olds, Steve Richie, Randy Cunningham…"

Mitch snorted. "Cunningham….pompas ass. Legend in his own mind. None of his kills were that difficult; he even claims he shot down Vietnam's best pilot? I ran into the guy earlier today."

"The Hap Bien mess…I was told to tread lightly with that for "security considerations" since the search for downed pilots is still going on. So this Vietnamese pilot you faced off with again is their best?"

"He has exceptional talents." Mitch replied. "So what do you mean I'm an interesting study in character? You mean I'm not the typical "ace" who jumps with joy over my air victories?"

"Just that." Martin replied. "Your shot down plane markings are smaller than typical."

"I don't believe in free advertising." Mitch replied. "I'm not looking to drag these people into dog fights by showing off the "star plumage" and since the Vietnamese get modern media, like the nightly news with Chet Huntley…I'd prefer to be a jungle native and avoid cameras…they make me nervous and uncomfortable."

Martin looked around the ready room. "Many of your contemporaries say you never bad mouth the Vietnamese. That doing that in your presence infuriates you. Why do you respect them when so few others do?"

"I learned that from my old man. My father flew in the Pacific War, was awarded the Medal of Honor at Samar in the Philippines. He was very strict about belittling opponants. Knew plenty of cocky pilots during the war who went about singing how they'd "slap that Jap" and they ended up dead. Bravado will get you killed all the same if you're coming in to land or if you're engaged against another pilot. When you're up there, you're one on one with another man, a human being who's just as much a person as yourself. He can be just as good as you or just a novice with little training but you're no different. I can already tell this ace Vietnamese pilot probably thinks the same way and that's why he's dangerous."

Martin leaned in. "Are you for the war or against it?"

"My personal feelings don't matter." Mitch replied. "I'll tell you what I tell everyone else, I'll fly as long as we still have grunts on the ground. I know Nixon is trying to "de-American" the conflict and turn everything over to the Vietnamese but we're not there yet and until the last Marine steps foot on the last transport out of Tan Su Naugh or Da Nang, I think I'll still be flying missions. We don't have peace yet."

"Do you think we can achieve some sort of victory out of this mess?" Steve asked boldly.

"Right now?" Mitch said with a sigh…."No, not as "victory" could be defined. I think Walter Cronkite said it best; we can only come to a stalemate…between us and the North Vietnamese. For South Vietnam? It's a matter of time and ability of which the ARVAN have very little of. This latest attempted invasion by the North is showing how weak the ARVAN are without US airpower to back them up. If we decide to pull the air cover one of these days? The ARVAN are doomed."

"So do you advocate America stay on? At least in the air power sense?" Steve asked.

"That's not my call of course, the people in D.C. should make that decision. All I can say as one who's been in the country experiencing what's been goin on is that the ARVAN can not survive on their own given their government and the military structure. We know the Communist aligned movements support North Vietnam with all the materials they need and if we pull everything away from the South? They will fold."

Steve made some notes. "Obviously you know about Jane Fonda and the anti-war movement. Many people believe Fonda should be arrested as a traitor."

"She has the right to say what she believes." Mitch snorted. "We accord her that right as an American citizen if she's right or wrong. She's spot on in many respects and damn wrong on others. If I were her though? I'd probably be very careful from now on making radio protests and television reports from Hanoi, especially now that Nixon looks to be taking our shackles off against direct attacks on the capital city….bombs do go off target."

Steve nodded. "I will leave out that last bit…Mitch? Honestly and off the record. The North Vietnamese have placed a 10,000 dollar bounty on your head in and out of the cockpit and your face has been plastered all over the papers and the news….don't you think after 20 kills it's time to go home?"

Mitch replied. "Off the record Steve…and do what when I get home? Go war bond touring? Wave to crowds of admires? Sign autographs for some snot dripping little kid who's father says I'm a big war hero? Sorry….I'm not going to go back and be the government's little prostitute so they can make people feel good about men dying. That's what pisses me off so much about how America treats war…this isn't a party with birthday cakes and streamers and jumping around cheering how you've killed your fellow human beings. Not for me. They can cheer, I'll keep trying to protect the boys who are shoved into this fucked up mess as long as I can."

Steve grabbed Mitch's shoulder. "At least there's something valorous in all this hell. You take good care of yourself Lieutenant Hunter. I hope you get home soon." With that, Steve Martin got up and walked out of the Ready Room…leaving Mitch to brood.

 **May 20, 1972**

 **7:14 pm**

 **Hap Bien Airbase, North Vietnam**

'Knock, knock knock…knock, knock, knock." The tapping on the door became a serious bother. "Do you mind? How many more people are going to bother me today?" "Rick" snorted before he opened the door to a…."foreign woman"?

She spoke in good Vietnamese…"Good evening Comrade Dinh. I asked permission to speak with you, I am Vasha Kulinskya from Pravda. (Pravda, the old Soviet propaganda ragsheet) here to interview the air hero of all Vietnam."

"Rick" smiled then looked around her. "I don't see the political Commissar? Usually foreign press are always shadowed by our Commissar."

"I felt it better not to be bothered." Vasha replied. "I didn't bother talking to him."

"Rick" snorted. "That my dear comrade will get you shot around here. I would be duty bound to report your presence but I bet you paid off a few people so I'll keep quiet for your sake."

"Thank you." Vasha replied. "May I sit?"

"Rick" motioned to his bed. "So Pravda sent you to do an interview? How nice. So is this going to be the standard "Harrah for the working class" editorial or are we going to be honest?"

Vasha smirked. "They told me you were non-conventional."

"In other words…." "Rick" snorted. "Not a very good "party man". Well my feelings for the party don't come before my feelings for my country, for me its always country first above all other things."

Vasha noted in her little book. "You seem to avoid celebrations, especially anti-American, anti-Western rallies against the Imperialist sky pirate rapist murderers of the Vietnamese people."

"Rick" replied. "American fighter pilots…..thank you. Why don't you do your interviews with some of our other illustrious brothers who fought against the white, yankee, baby raping, mass murdering air pirates? Oh I'm sorry…they're in short supply because their bravado got them killed."

"You don't speak to highly of your comrades." Vasha said frowning.

"No…I don't speak highly of pumping young men full of endless propaganda that makes the enemy look like stupid monkies and then they blow our pilots out of the sky….forgive me my dear lady but "Das Capital" doesn't work too well in a fighter cockpit. When I'm up flying against my enemy, I'm not fighting for the glorious "World Socialist Union" I'm fighting to keep myself from being blown out of the sky."

"But you do believe in the glorious advance of freedom under the banner of united Marxist Leninism don't you?" Vasha asked.

"Rick" leaned towards her. "Here's all I know "Comrade Moscowvite" my people have had to deal with foreigners for over a thousand years. Be they Chineses, Japanese, Americans, French, Russians, North Koreans, Austrailians, Brits….do you get my frustration? "WE" being the people of Vietnam, want our country to ourselves. Free of Moscow, free of Washington, Poyongyang, Beijing and anywhere south of West Bung-loada-stan. If Communism allows us to attain that dream then so be it and if it fails? We will find something else that works. When this war is finally done? I hope everyone packs their bags and gets out…otherwise if they're not too smart? We'll replace the graves Americans with say….Chinese or Russians? Ask the Chinese about our history and they'll tell you how much fear we've smashed into their heads? I'm not fighting to slaughter Americans, I just want them to go the hell home."

Vasha smirked. "You wouldn't be fostering some affection for the filthy murdering Capitalists would you Comrade?"

That did it. "Rick" got up and pointed to the door. "And this is where you walk the hell out as I call the sentry and inform him that you're hear without authority. Good day, I don't think I'll care much to read what you're going to print because knowing you Russians? It'll all be a rose covering scent over ox crap….now get out!"

"Rick" slammed the door so hard that it got the attention of a few pilots and mechanics who were flocking around a bunk listening to the news radio. One of the mechanics poked his head into "Rick's" room and saw the pilot sitting in a chair holding his head and rubbing his hair.

"Sir? Comrade Dinh are you ok?" He asked.

"Rick" sat up…."Yes, I'm fine. I just got over a big Russian headache that's all. What's on the news?"

The mechanic frowned. "Marshall Giap (General No Wyn Jap, Commander General of the armed forces of North Vietnam)has been replaced by President Ho."

"Rick" was startled. "The great commander? Gone? Why?"

"Our offensive was a disaster Comrade. The army has been severely crippled. We've lost hundreds of our new tanks, thousands of our army comrades are dead. Our invasion of the South failed."

"Rick" stood up and angrily kicked his chair. "DAMN IT! This damn war will never end!"

"Comrade?!" The mechanic replied startled. "Another piece of news is from America. The American president has ordered an immediate hault to the gangster bombing campaign. Perhaps this is a good sign?"

"Rick" frowned back. "And every time we have one of these pauses? Moscow or Hanoi or Washington D.C. screws it up. Do you want perpetual warfare in our country?"

"Rick" dropped into his chair. "I was once so willing to fly against the Americans, I was so willing and so happy to have the chance to fight for my country against the foreign invaders. I'm tired comrade…I am getting so damn tired."

"You're….you're not thinking of giving up are you?" The man asked.

"No….of course not. I can't quit until the Americans quit and go the hell home. Right now I just want to get some rest."

 **May 20, 1972**

 **9:14 pm**

 **Officer's open lounge**

 **Air Wing Officer's country**

 **USS Midway**

A flight Lieutenant came running into the lounge. "Have you guys heard the news?"

Mitch was sitting off to the side playing a short game of spades with three other officers before he decided to get some sleep. "Let me guess? Nixon's sending one of his daughters to the Olympics?"

"No….The North Vietnamese just sacked General Giap (jap). They're saying on NVA radio that he's suffering from "over work and stress". Yeah…..he's suffering from getting his dink ass kicked. And Nixon just announced another bombing pause in 48 hours and until then we'll be on strikes round the clock."

"I'd better check the roster to see if we've been thrown on a mission." Mitch said as he threw down a card and took another "book" into his stack. "We better watch what we're doing Harv? We're dangerously close to sand bagging our hands here."

The Lieutenant was puzzled. "Don't you guys get it? Giap's been sacked, the North Vietnamese got their asses royally handed to them and Nixon calls a halt? This could finally put an end to the whole damned war."

"Don't be to confident." Another pilot who was watching the television said. "We've been here before remember? LBJ halted Rolling Thunder in 1968 and the Communists re-armed the North. All these pauses and restrictions do is protect the very things we need to destroy and even then do you think the North Vietnamese are going to join hands and sing the old negro spiritual?"

Mitch snorted. "Don't bash the man because he has hope. Who here really wants the damn war to go one day more? Certainly not the guys in the Hanoi Hilton. Problem is we won't call the damn Russians or the Chinese or the North Koreans out when we damn know well some of them are flying the MIG's we're going up against. They're no different than us, we're training people to fly our equipment just like they're training the North Vietnamese; this whole war has been a weapons testing ground for both sides and who's getting the big ten four screw job? The poor Vietnamese."

One of the pilots playing spades snorted. "Mitch is addicted to that Vietnamese poontang."

"I'll addict you to my fricken fist pal if you don't shut that trap." Mitch snorted back. Just then; Dan Fokker walked in as the other pilot decided he wanted to get froggy…

"Oh hell no!" Dan snapped as he jumped between the two angry pilots and pushed Mitch towards the door. "Christ Pop, you just can't wait to bash someone's face in can you?"

"We were going to have a civil conversation Tweety." Mitch snorted.

"Yeah right…civil your fist into his kisser." Dan snapped as he finally got Mitch out of the room. "We got MIGCAP tomorrow morning, you should be sleeping. Guess you heard about the bombing pause?"

"Yeah…" Mitch replied. "We'll probably fly one more mission then high tail it back to Japan for a short in period…my guess. So you were the one who called "GQ" when that shit started to go down in the hanger huh? Good thinking on your part Dan."

"The only other course would have been to start beating the shit out of people, then where would we be?" Dan replied. "I got a letter from the wife."

"Everything ok?" Mitch asked.

"Yeah...They're in Japan and getting settled onto Atsugi. Roy's going totally bonkers, the squadron omsbudsman gave him a toy Phantom to play with and he's causing my wife absolute fits at night….won't go to bed."

Mitch laughed. "The kid's going to be a fighter pilot."

"No…" Dan replied. "I'm going to do everything I can to steer him towards something more beneficial…like computers, that's the future man…like Star Trek."

Mitch snorted. "I won't fly in space, oh hell no. When I leave the service? All I want to fly is an old fashioned crop duster out of Nebraska. Anyway….we'd better get some sleep. What time is briefing?"

"9am for a 10:30am launch." Dan replied as he punched Mitch in the shoulder. "And don't go back in there and try to ass kick someone please? I don't want to sit around all day while you're in the brig."

 **CHAPTER 4**

 **May 21, 1972**

 **7am**

 **Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **Morning squadron briefing**

"Good morning comrades." The political commissar said with a dower tone. "By now all of you have heard the news that the great commander, General Giap (Jap) has been relieve of command. Our attempted liberation of the oppressed people of the captured South of our beloved nation met with extreme difficulty and did not achieve the impressive gains which the great commander skillfully planned for."

"Rick" sat next to Tan and sighed. "Translation? We got our behinds chewed apart. The glorious army died gloriously drunk on vane gloriousness as usual."

"Shhhh…" Tan warned. "Comrade Dinh? Please try not to rock your boat?"

"A little truth for the soul usually works wonders Tan." "Rick" snorted back silently. "How about some truth for once? Now Nixon is planning a bombing pause? Fantastic, the war continues to have a life."

The Commisar gave Dinh a mean look. "Comrade Dinh? Since you seem so fit not to entertain us when it would be good for morale and a spirit of party unity? Perhaps you'd like to come up here and explain why you see fit to be so bothersome now?"

Tan slapped his face. "I told you."

"Rick" snorted back. "Observe the mastery."

Tan pulled his legs up. "I don't want to drown in the coming cess pool flood."

Dinh walked up to the front of the room and stood with his hands behind his back. "It seems that the dear Commissar and some very eminent members of the party desire me to have a bigger head…I find that a little difficult as if I allowed my head to get bigger than my ass? I would not be able to fit inside my MIG."

The remark drew laughter.

"Also comrades? If I were to allow my head to get any bigger, I'd start looking like most of the fat stupid Capitalist degenerates in South Vietnam. I….do not wish to be shot by mistake."

There was more laughter.

"I should not have to explain my devotion nor my motivation…I think my efforts explain that clear enough. I am perhaps equally frustrated as much as all of you are that our offensive was repulsed and that our leadership saw fit to retire Comrade General Giap, I am not disheartened, only distressed that Comrade Commander General shall not be at the helm when we final march in glorious triumph into the Presidential palace in Saigon. If anyone should have the honor of sitting in the chair of the Capitalist mongrel of South Vietnam it is Comrade General Giap."

The men and women in the room clapped loudly.

"This being said Comrades, I must be honest that I view the decision by President Nixon to be most distressing as every time this has happened before, we ended up back in the same place. It is like we are trying to hit the same stubborn mole over the head with a hammer. This time however….and I speak boldly not for myself but for my country…we must be very certain that we finish bashing the mole's brains out….permanently. For that, we must not only double our efforts but re-visit our way of achieving our single aim….sending the Americans home. Only then will Vietnam achieve the long goal of independence from foreign intrusions…"

"That is…unless any of you actually desire kissing the feet of Russians and Chinese on our soil?"

This time even the Commissar shut his mouth.

Dinh looked about the room. "Does anyone here have any objections to being a bit more "educated" by myself? I know….I know…..I am the son of a foreign slut and a Vietnamese father who while loyal to the cause of the nation wasn't exactly loyal enough to marry a good Vietnamese woman. So what good can any of you possibly learn from a half-breed street mutt such as this lowly person? Well….not that 22 enemy planes makes a big difference anyway."

Tan stood up. "We should learn from Comrade Dinh! I have learned how to be a moron who can't control his mouth now because of our great fighter pilot!"

"Thank you Tan…" Dinh snorted. "I…..think we are short on time at the moment but with this pause in the war coming soon? That should be the time well spent to preparing a shock the Americans will never forget."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:14 am**

 **USS Midway**

 **MIGCAP launch**

 **4 plus F-4 Phantoms VF-151**

Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker

Phantom 2: Bart Barkowski and Dennis Means

Phantom 3: Harland Simmons and Eddy Brickter

Phantom 4: Chuck Vanallen and Steven Majeski

The familiar jolt pushed Mitch and Dan back in their seats and their repaired F-4 Phantom II flew off the end of the Midway and quickly gained altitude over the South China Sea. "Another day over the sunny theme park of Southeast Asia." Dan said as he scanned his radar. "Nothing close within 50 miles Pops. Huntress E-2 this is Vigilante lead, do you have any threats?"

Not far from the flight of F-4 Phantoms, the E-2C Hawkeye radar plane flew in a wide circle at 40,000 feet with its' disk shaped radar dome sweeping the skies over North Vietnam for MIG Patrols…

"Vigee Lead. Two bogies at 11 o'clock, 70 miles, angels (altitude) five (five thousand feet) heading 080 degrees, approximately five miles from Hap Bien."

Mitch clicked his radio. "Ok…let's see if we can lure some more out by jumping these two. Harland? You take Chuck and go ride high at 15,000 while me and Bart ride down low. Turning towards coast in point."

Two of the Phantoms shot upwards out of the "V" shaped formation and backed off about 75 yards behind Mitch and his wingman as the flight headed for the southern coast of North Vietnam. Suddenly the radio cracked from the E-2C…

"Vigee lead, Huntress….reported pair of bandits are gone….repeat, they are gone."

Mitch replied. "Huntress? Gone where? Back to base? Another course?"

Huntress replied. "No Vigee lead….they are just gone."

Dan heard the message and snorted. "It's our favorite prick again. He's mowing the elephant grass in the Chu pong highlands. What Mitch, Dan and the other Phantoms don't know is that the pair of MIG's are doing more than mowing grass…

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:22am**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **Che Sok (Chee-sock) roadway near Ko Koi village**

There are very few paved roadways outside the national highway that runs the length of North and South Vietnam and very few still in the North that could accommodate a pair of MIG 17's. Tan really though now that his mentor had lost whatever sanity he had left when he commanded his wingman to set down on the roadway…."And mind the farm Oxen?"

As Tan turned his MIG around on the pavement, lucky the MIG 17 was so small, he gave his mentor a serious frown.

"What's wrong Tan?" "Rick" asked smirking.

"Your mental state." Tan snorted. "We're naked on a roadway or does the idea of getting bombed appeal to you?"

"Rick" chuckled. "Don't you ever read your Tsung Tsu? Never try a trick again twice unless you modify your trick. Right now our American friends are going ape crazy trying to find out why two MIG's just suddenly vanished. Sit back in your seat, drink some water and wait for the fun."

Tan shifted in his seat. "You know these cockpits were never made for one's comfort. Do you have a girlfriend Comrade Dinh?"

"Yes…" Dinh replied. "My airplane….though…..sex is kinda difficult. What about you?"

"Oh…..childhood sweet heat." Tan replied. "Her name is Yun Mae."

"Flower Princess…..how nice." "Rick" replied smiling. "You planning to get married?"

"Yes….my mother's wish." Tan replied as he looked at a picture of his girl. "I think she knew we would be married even when we were kids. Mae is good for me, my mother said often. "She will keep you from getting into trouble."

"I thought that was my job?" "Rick" said smirking.

"Well…." Tan replied. "You kinda suck at it."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:22am**

 **15 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **20,000 feet Vigee Flight off USS Midway**

"Two MIG's Mitch and they just vanish? Maybe the Gooks decided to start the pause early on their part?" Bartkowski said on the radio.

"No… Mitch replied. "I'm starting to think this is our friend "Colonel Thoon" from that last air strike over Hap Bien. Dan? Keep looking around, see if the guy's not sitting on some highway down there?"

"Highway?" Dan replied. "That would be crazy, with all the jets running around?"

"We're dealing with someone who's crazy like a fox." Mitch snorted. "Just look Tweety. Harland and Chuck, you two go North for about a minute or two and try to suck this guy into a fight."

Mitch looked at his own radar display, then looked at his radio. "Tweety? I'm going to give this guy a little juicy tid bit." Mitch switched the radio channel to the one the North Vietnamese pilot had used on him…."Guard seven….switch…30."

"Good morning…if you can hear me, please reply."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:27am**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **Che Sok (Chee-sock) roadway near Ko Koi village**

"Rick" heard Mitch's voice and waved to Tan. "Guess who's on the radio?"

Tan replied. "You going to answer?"

"No….Does he really think I could be that dumb?" "Rick" knew that by keying his radio, the transmission could be picked up by the American's radar planes and somewhere there was always a bomb laiden jet just waiting for the word to pounce. "Patience is the virtue my dear Tan."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:27am**

 **15 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **20,000 feet Vigee Flight off USS Midway**

"Hey! What's wrong mister hot shot Vietnamese pilot? Can't repeat your performance? And I thought I found a worthy opponent." Mitch snickered. "Being very smart."

Dan clicked his radio. "Everyone be careful…these guys like to shoot up from the clutter."

"See any roads they could have put down on?" Mitch asked.

"Nothing." Replied the other two Phantoms. "He wouldn't be stupid enough to use the national highway."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:32am**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **Che Sok (Chee-sock) roadway near Ko Koi village**

"Three…four…five….."

"What are you doing Tan?" "Rick" asked as he drank water from a ladle passed to him by a farmer.

"I'm counting oxen. That's about all I can do right now while I wait to have my MIG blown up under my ass." Tan snorted. "Are we going to sit here all day?"

"Rick" started up his engine and waved the farmer back. "No…I think we've waited for them to drink enough of their own gas don't you think?"

"Their fuel?" Tan asked. "But….that means they'll be lighter and faster."

"And short on flight time." "Rick" replied. "Now we on the other hand will have plenty of fuel to spare. Now you see why I hate wasting time doing doughnuts in the air?"

"Ah….sometimes your foolishness is quite logical." Tan replied as he started his engine. "Lead on comrade."

"Rick" raised his hand…"Wait…."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:34am**

 **Phantom 3: Harland Simmons and Eddy Brickter**

 **Phantom 4: Chuck Vanallen and Steven Majeski**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **10,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"Nothing…..not a damn thing." Chuck Vanallen snapped. "Steve? You see anything?"

Harland Simmons rolled his Phantom upside down to look through the top of the canopy glass just as his aural warning tone screamed in his ears…."OH FUCK!"

The Russian made Atoll 3 missile slammed into the spine of the F-4, tore through the center wing tank, connected with the belly tank full of fumes then detonated…

The F-4 vanished in a ball of fire as the two MIG-17's screamed by it going vertical at 350 knots!

"FUCK! GOD DAMN FUCK!" Chuck Vanallen pulled and pushed his stick to the right, throwing the Phantom into a wildly turning cork screw as he lit the afterburners. "Mitch! Mitch! They came up from Ko Koi! Damn! They got Harland! No chutes! No chutes! Get the fuck over here now God damn it!"

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:34am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **Phantom 2: Bart Barkowski and Dennis Means**

 **15 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **20,000 feet**

Mitch rolled his Phantom and lit his burners. "Bart? Listen carefully…you can't deal with this guy in level flight, his MIG 17 is "up-gunned". We have to keep "high eyes" (gain the advantage of altitude) on him, he might be able to turn tight at high speed but he can't out climb us. You get Chuck out of dodge and I'll take on this guy! Watch his wing man too, the Vietnamese like to split up and ambush back into the fight when they can."

"Rodger!" Bart replied.

"Make sure you have a target before you punch off a missile." Dan chimed in. "We only have 8 shots and this guy is damn good at pulling hasty wasted shots."

"Chuck! Climb up and stall those bastards! We're inbound!" Mitch snapped.

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:37am**

" **Rick" and Tan chasing Phantom 4**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **10,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

Tan saw the Phantom light his afterburners as he popped off an Atoll missile and the Phantom shot vertical like a rocket!

"He's climbing!" Tan snapped as he started to chase the Phantom but soon had to quickly turn and drop as "Rick" jumped in front of him.

"Don't follow! You can't keep up with a Phantom in a climb!" "Rick" snapped. "Stay level and watch out for incoming fighters…I've seen this trick before."

"But he can drop down on top of us!" Tan snapped.

"What the hell are you for?" "Rick" disciplined. "Sitting on your ass counting your toes? Keep your eyes on a swivel! I'll worry about that Phantom!"

Tan threw his head around his cockpit until his eyes locked on a pair of fast moving blurs soaring over the jungle plains below…."INCOMING PHANTOMS AT EIGHT O CLOCK LOW!"

"Turn into them…..NOW!" "Rick" snapped.

"Turn into them?!" Tan yelped.

"DO IT NOW YOU FOOL!" "Rick" rolled his fighter and forced Tan to turn.

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:39am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **Phantom 2: Bart Barkowski and Dennis Means**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **5,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

The light signaling the steady lock of the AIM-7 Sparrow on one of the two MIG's came into Mitch's eyes and he pulled the launching trigger. The AIM-7 dropped from its depression under the Phantom, lit off the rocket booster and sailed swift and sure against the wing man of what Mitch knew was the expert pilot he'd wanted to go up against.

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:40am**

" **Rick" and Tan**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **7,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"Oh shit!" Tan yelled as he saw the AIM-7 come off the rail of one of the charging Phantoms.

"Cut your engines! Dive for the highway!" "Rick" snapped. "Throw that control stick around!"

Rick watched Tan's MIG rolled, twisted and practically forward flip nose over tail…breaking the radar lock and sending the AIM-7 into "stupid mode" Then he watched the two Phantoms light their burners and sail strait up!

"You ok Tan? They're climbing above us! I expected that!" "Rick snapped. He grabbed his radio knob, spun it to the channel he wanted and called out…."MORNING HALLYWOOD!"

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:39am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **25,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"So you decided to talk after all? Morning Colonel Thoon!" Mitch snapped.

"I have your Colonel Thoon up your ass there hallywood!" "Rick" replied angrily.

"Sorry to slight you." Mitch replied smirking. "How about we get into formal introductions? What's your real name?"

"Henry Kissenger." "Rick replied. "Bet you really want to shoot me down now huh Hallywood?"

"Rick" watched as the two Phantoms topped out at about 20,000 feet, nosed over and began to come back down on their own terminal velocity. "If you're hoping to force me into a mistake there "Widow Maker"? You'll be sorely disappointed."

Mitch radio'd Bart…"You and Chuck get out of here, let me handle this guy."

"You sure about this? He's got a wingman!" Bart warned.

"That's what I'm counting on now get out of here!" Mitch snapped. He watched as Bart's phantom rolled to the left and broke off from the dive.

"I'd sure like to meet the McDonnell Douglas designer who didn't equip this plane with a cannon Tweety? I'd shoot the bastard in the damned face. I have a perfect shot….the guy's going slow just to get under my skin. Selecting Sidewinder!"

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:41am**

 **Tan and Dinh's MIG-17's**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **3,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"Here he comes!" Tan yelped as he looked over at Dinh's MIG. "How much slower can we go?!"

"Just be patient." Dinh snickered as he watched the Phantom start to pull a lead on his nose. "And…..HIT THE BURNERS!"

Tan threw his throttles to their stops and the MIG 17 jumped as the afterburner can lit off! "This is crazy! They have Sidewinders!"

"Precisely." Dinh replied. "He'll probably shoot one off right about…."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:42am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **5,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

Mitch was about to hit the firing button when he stopped…"Nice try you little bastard."

"What the hell Pops?!" Dan yelled. "Shoot!"

"He wants me to shoot at his wingman." Mitch snorted. "So I can waste a winder. Remember Tweety, he's got chaff and flare cans in that soop'd MIG of his."

Dan sat back in his ejection seat. "Well shit Mitch…might as well break out the playing cards back here or make Jiffy Pop."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:41am**

 **Tan and Dinh's MIG-17's**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **7,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

Dinh flicked his radio dial…"Oh come on Widowmaker…what's wrong with you? Don't you want to fight?"

"Did you think I was that stupid?" Mitch replied. Dinh watched as the Phantom's afterburners lit off and it screamed back above him. "Oh please…I'm getting so tired of watching you try to fly to the moon. Who do you think you are? Neal Armstrong?"

"You got a pair of guns, why don't you start flying like a man and use them?" Mitch said with a cocky tone. "Or are you a mommy's boy?"

"Just for that Widowmaker? No more mister nice Vietnamese. Better hold onto your ass." Dinh looked at Tan, threw a signal with his hand and the two MIG 17's broke apart with Dinh going vertical and Tan going into a tight turning circle.

"How much fuel do you have Tan?" Dinh asked.

"About enough for twenty minutes." Tan replied.

"Make it fifteen to be safe." Dinh said as he turned his attention to Mitch's Phantom as it rolled over the top of the climb and now came speeding back down towards the MIG-17.

"You have no gun Hallywood…what you going to do, ram me?"

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:45am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **10,000 feet and falling over Ko Koi village**

"That's actually in the combat manual." Mitch replied snorting. "You still owe me the pleasure of your name there sport."

"Phillis Diller….she's about your type." "Rick" snapped back.

"I didn't know I was watching "Laugh In" " Dan snorted. "I thought we were fighting the North Vietnamese there Pop?!"

"Who's your back seater Hallywood?" "Rick" snickered. "Sounds like he needs his baby bottle."

"I'll baby you, you prick!" Dan snapped.

"He's trying to piss you off Tweety, stay to the radar and watch out for his wingman!" Mitch snarled as he kicked the rudder pedals and threw the stick around to follow the MIG-17 in corkscrew twisting tight turn. Flipping the radar locking button to "AIM-7" Mitch tried for a Sparrow shot yet found the ability to keep his lock difficult because of his opponents rapidly changing turns and moves…

"This guy is fricken brilliant!" Mitch snapped. "How much time we have Tweety?"

"His wingman is creeping up on our six!" Dan snapped as he saw the other MIG-17 swinging in to try and get a gun shot. The Phantom pulled a Hard left turn then a reverse snap roll to the right just as Tan pulled his trigger and sent a line of rounds through the fiberglass tip of the Phantom's vertical stabilizer!

"Son of a bitch!" Dan snapped as the MIG-17 raced over the top of the canopy. "Not bad! He chewed the hell out of our stab tip!"

Mitch snickered. "He also over shot…sucks to be you pal!" Mitch got a tone from his Sidewinder and mashed the pickle button to send an AIM-9 off the right wing station!

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:48am**

 **Tan and Dinh's MIG-17's**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **2,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"OH SHIT!" Tan yelped as he watched the Sidewinder fly off the Phantom towards his jet. He cut the throttles to zero, pulled the stick, mashed the rudder pedals and sent the MIG into a wild tumble but was sure he was a dead man….

"TAG! YOU'RE IT HALLYWOOD!" Dinh snapped as he flew by Tan's tail, punching hot flares from his own plane that spoiled Mitch's shot! "You ok Tan?"

"I threw up breakfast." Tan replied.

"Good…you won't die from Salmonella." Dinh snickered as he flipped his radio dial again. "You better be careful of your missiles there Hallywood…if you shoot them all off, no more sex for you."

Dan punched his control panel. "Hey douche bag! Let's land so I can kick your sorry ass!"

"This is A and B conversation back seat driver, sit there and shut up!" Dinh snapped back angrily. He put his MIG into a tight twisting back roll, popped open his speed breaks, cut his throttles and the Phantom shot below his turn. He then twisted the jet around, dropped it behind Mitch and pulled the gun trigger…

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:50am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **4,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

Some of rounds from the MIG connected with the Phantom's wings, causing Mitch to over-correct and send the jet into a terrifying spinning dive!

"OH SHIT! OH SHIT!" Dan yelled from the back. "GET CONTROL POP!"

"Brilliant observation Tweety! How about you climb over the seat and help me!" Mitch snorted as he muscled back control of the wounded jet and pulled level just above the trees. Mitch clicked off his radio…"I am getting sick and tired of hearing this creep talk, aren't you Tweety?"

"We have…..about five minutes of fuel left Mitch before bingo, what's your plan?"

Mitch pulled the Phantom into a turn. "Let's see if our Vietnamese ace has bigger balls than his little body. Time for us to play a target."

"Do what?!" Dan yelped. "You're crazy!"

"Wow…you noticed? You need to get out more." Mitch snickered as he aimed his Phantom at Dinh's MIG.

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:51am**

 **Tan and Dinh's MIG-17's**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **4,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

Dinh turned against the coming Phanton and turned his head about to spot Tan. Tan's MIG was behind and below in the Phantom's blind spot. "Tan, I'm going to give him a target, you come up from behind and give him cannons!"

"He's tricking us again." Tan snorted. "We only have four minutes of fuel before we need to go back to base Comrade, we should disengage."

"We have an opportunity to finish off the Widow maker Tan, I am sick of playing with him." Tan snorted as he closed nose on to the Phantom. "Go ahead and lock on Widowmaker, let's see who can play better game of chicken!"

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:52am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **4,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"We're going nose on nose with this guy Mitch! Lock him up!" Dan yelled.

"Not yet." Mitch snorted. "Gotta draw him closer."

"Christ Mitch! We're practically kissing the bastard!"

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:52am**

 **Tan and Dinh's MIG-17's**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **4,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"Tan!" Dinh snapped. "Are you behind him?!"

"I'm closing fast to gun range comrade!" Tan replied as his MIG-17 screamed up from below and behind the Phantom.

"I'll give you the honor of your fifth kill! Let's check the Widowmaker into Han Loi Prison!" Dinh said clenching his teeth as his finger moved to the gun trigger and he rolled his MIG to line the Phantom up for a head to head shot!

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:53am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **4,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"Three…two…..one…..NOW!" Mitch hit the speed brakes, pulled the throttles back, kicked the rudder pedals, and threw the control stick to the right and cork screwed the Phantom up and out of the way as Tan's MIG spat a stream of bullets…..

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:53am**

 **Tan and Dinh's MIG-17's**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **4,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"WHAP, WHAP, WHAP, WHAP, WHAP!" Dinh felt the MIG shudder under his feet as a stream of 20 millimeter cannon rounds tore at the wings, ripped through the engine cavity, blew through the engine compressor and passed through the cockpit, shattering the canopy glass!

"WHAT THE HELL!" Dinh yelled as he wrestled with the control stick and heard the engine flaming in and out. Lucky for him the single cannon round that passed through the cockpit, passed between his legs or he would have been dead….well….dead might be a foregone conclusion.

"OH NO! OH NO! OH NO! COMRADE DINH! COMRADE TELL ME YOU'RE ALIVE!" Tan's terrified voice came through the radio.

"Please tell me you didn't just shoot me Tan?!" Dinh snorted as he tried to assess the damage to his plane.

"Well you told me to get the shot!" Tan replied. "Are you hurt?"

"No…..but the plane is." Dinh replied. "Engine's messed up, control surfaces are messed up, the hydraulics might be shot."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:53am**

 **Phantom Lead: Mitchel Hunter and Dan Fokker**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **10,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"Holy Shit!" Dan yelped. "I can't believe you pulled that off!"

Mitch selected his radio dial. "Hey! Hey hot shot! You still alive?!"

"Not right now Hallywood….I'm busy!" Dinh replied huffing. "Good trick…I should use that next time."

Mitch looked down to see the MIG trailing smoke. "Your engine might be on fire, you better punch out."

"I like to live dangerously." Dinh replied. "Go ahead and finish me off..if you got the balls?"

"Too late…I have to go back to my ship." Mitch replied. "Maybe we'll get lucky and the war will end during the cease fire so I'm giving you a freebee this time. Consider it payment for the last time."

"Thank you. By the way…my name is Richelieu Dinh. You may call me Rick for short there Hallywood."

"Fine by me…my name's Mitchel and my back seater is Tweety. Better luck next time there Rick….signing off, good luck."

 **May 21, 1972**

 **8:54am**

 **Tan and Dinh's MIG-17's**

 **8 miles East of Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

 **4,000 feet over Ko Koi village**

"Thank you for being such a sport." Dinh replied as he spied a dirt road below. "Tan, I'm going for that dirt road down there…cover me."

"At the rate I'm burning fuel comrade? I may join you." Tan replied as he started to circle while Dinh dropped his MIG for a rough landing.

"By the way?" Dinh asked. "Congratulations on your fifth kill."

"Thanks…..wise ass. Now please don't die?" Tan asked.

Dinh muscled his control stick as the MIG felt like a ton of dead weight on the verge of nosing into the ground. "Come on you rotten piece of Russian crap!" Dinh snapped as he strained to keep the nose up as the smell of smoke was getting worse in the cockpit."

"I think you have a bad fire Comrad! Eject!" Tan screamed. "Eject damn it!"

A farmer down below had just enough time to force his Oxen out of the way as the MIG screamed over his head and slammed down hard on the road, breaking off the landing gear and spinning before sliding into a rice patty and standing upended on the bashed in nose.

"COMRADE! COMRADE DINH! ANSWER ME!" Tan's voice screamed into the radio as Dinh pulled off his helmet and chucked it into the water.

"I'm pissing on your ancestors for this disgraceful situation I'm in Tan, I hope you are fucking happy." Dinh snapped as he hit the canopy frame with his fist.

"I have to return to base Comrade. I'll send a truck to come get you." Tan said as he slowly flew over Dinh's MIG. "That dirty fucken American bastard."

"Yes he is a bastard." Dinh snorted. "But I'm beginning to like him. He says his name is Mitch…we must find out more about this man."

"Why?" Tan asked. "The only thing he's good for is snake bate."

Rick smiled. "The future Tan….we always have to believe in the future. Just be swift with that truck please?"

 _ **CHAPTER 5**_

 **May 21, 1972**

 **9:37am**

 **USS Midway on Yankee Station**

With the jolting stop at the edge of the angle deck, Mitch knew he'd caught the good wire. Following the signals of the yellow shirts, he brought the Phantom to a stop on the bow at an angle with the rest of the recovered aircraft from the two morning launches. When he handed his flight bag to the plane captain however, he noticed the man wasn't "Scooby" Lang, his usually assigned plane captain. Instead it was the newest addition to the line shack; Airman Howard Caprice.

"Morning Caprice." Mitch said as he started to climb down the ladder. "Scooby training you up?"

Caprice gave Mitch a silent stare back for a moment. "No Sir…Petty Officer Adar is…." The man looked troubled.

"You alright?" Mitch asked.

"Sir?" Caprice replied. "Sir…I don't know how to say this but….Scooby's dead."

Dan caught the words as he touched the flight deck. "What did you just say Airman?"

"Scooby Sir?...he's dead."

Mitch looked at Dan as Caprice continued. "It happened almost two hours ago Sir. They were recovering this A-4 Skyhawk? Well…..the nose gear broke off Sir…flew down the flight deck and into the pack….Scooby…he…..he pushed a blue shirt out of the way…."

Mitch dropped his flight bag and turned for a moment to smack the F-4 with a fist. "Caprice? You go down to the line shack and tell the Chief that I want to speak to both shift changes tonight. Ok?"

"Yes Sir." Caprice replied. He then thought for a moment and turned back. "Sir? I know this is a bad time but…how was the flight?"

Mitch turned around and took a deep breath. "I'll make sure you get a good list of any gripes Airman….now go and tell the Chief."

Mitch watched Caprice walk away and turned to Dan…."FUCK! GOD DAMN IT! FUCK!"

Dan raised his hands. "Pop…"

"We're just about into another pause…maybe the war would end and…..fuck!" Mitch threw his NATOPS manual against the Phantom's side. "God damn it…"

Dan backed away, he didn't want to set Mitch off into a full blown tirade as the big man snatched up his flight bag and cursed to himself as he walked to the ready room. As he entered through the door; Petty Officer Elsberry met him to take both his flight bag and his side arm…

"Sir? You heard about Scooby?" Elsberry asked. It was an innocent question but Mitch exploded…

"Do I know about Scooby?! What kind of dumb fucken question was that?! Can you read it on my face?! Shut up and do your God damned fucken job Elsberry!"

"LIEUTENANT!" Came the Skipper's voice from his office. "Get in my office now!"

Mitch walked to the Skipper's office with Bennington slamming the door shut behind him. "Now…you want to explain to me why you just exploded on my yeoman? That was seriously un-fucken-professional of you Mitch! It's not Elsberry's fault "Scooby" got killed. I have 400 some odd men to worry about from my XO down to the newest airman and the last thing they need to see is a senior squadron officer coming un-glued. Sit down."

Mitch took a seat as "Wise" sat on his desk. "Let it out Mitch. I know there's more pissing you off than just Scooby so let it flow."

Mitch sighed for a moment…."Another worthless bombing pause…another round of kiss ass, cock sucking and butt fucking between D.C., Moscow, Beijing and Hanoi so they can screw this one up and get more men killed. Yeah….I'm fucken frustrated Skipper. I'm the one who has to write the letter to Scooby's parents and try to explain to them why their son died and for what? So a bunch of suit and tie dick fucks who haven't shot hair one from their ass holes can argue over the coffee maker and the shape of the God damned negotiations table?! We're a few hours away from another bombing pause and Scooby gets killed by a broke dick A-4 strut? A good man, a damn fine man and he gets erased by a broken gear strut so close to what we all hope is the end of this stupid damned war." Mitch sighed…."Yeah….I'm fucken pissed."

The Skipper leaned into Mitch's face. "Do you want to go home Mitch?"

Mitch looked back stunned.

"I asked you Lieutenant…do you want to go home? Has this one Sailor's death so shaken you up that you want to go home? What about the rest of them? The division I put you in charge of because of how they look up to you for leadership in times like this?"

Mitch wiped his eyes as "Wise" grabbed his shoulders. "God damn it Mitch…what would that kid think if you just decided to quit now? I know you better than yourself Lieutenant… you're not one to leave men hanging and if I know Scooby? He'd probably try and kick the shit out of you. Don't fall apart on me Mitch, not God damn now. We need to get the rest of these guys home…fucked up war or no fucked up war."

"Wise" patted Mitch's shoulders. "Now take a minute or two too get yourself right and apologize to Elsberry…that's an order Lieutenant."

"Wise" left Mitch alone for a few minutes and no one but Elsberry was in the ready room when Mitch came out. He walked up to Elsberry and sighed…"Petty Officer Elsberry….I…."

Elsberry smiled. "No need Sir….I know." Elsberry grabbed Mitch by the shoulder. "Sheesh, I'm in shock….Aces do have a heart."

Mitch shook Elsberry's hand. "You do a damn fine job Elsberry…I'm sorry for being an ass."

"You don't look like an ass to me Sir." Elsberry remarked, patting Mitch's shoulder as the man walked out of the ready room.

 **12:34pm**

 **USS Midway**

" **Vulture's row"**

As people would go to NASCAR races for the crashes, so too do Sailors flock to the bridge like structure behind the Midway's large and lengthy Island in the hopes of seeing an unfortunate aircraft biting the back end of the ship or belly flopping over the steel landing area after the landing gear failed; hence the name of the place "Full of Vultures" or "Vultures Row"

That's where Dan found Mitch, leaning against the railing and watching the crews on the flight deck getting ready to shoot off another Alpha Strike into North Vietnam. "Found you. At least you're not trying to scavenge around for some comfort drinks."

Mitch said nothing back.

"Hey look Pop…this will brighten your day." Dan pulled a photo from his uniform pocket. "Look…the wife took Roy to Ueno Zoo in Tokyo, the kid had a blast. Tell you what? When we get back home, I'll spot for some big steaks from the Commissary and we'll have a good old fashioned "barb". Lots of beer, get stupid, pass out on the lawn, get arrested by security, puke our guts out….talk about conduct unbecoming huh?"

Mitch chuckled. "Sounds like a good plan…I need to get seriously drunk."

Dan snorted. "You neeeeeed to get a wife. Phantoms don't give great sex, you can't get head from the intakes and they don't kiss you….unless you want burnt lips. What the hell Mitch? You going to wait till your fifty and out of the Navy before you hitch up with a woman?"

"Haven't found "Miss right"." Mitch replied. "A woman has to fit like a glove and so far my hands aren't exactly standard glove size you know?"

Dan poked Mitch in the head. "You got fricken plane on the brains….that's your problem. You know the inside of a NATOPS better than the inside of a woman's panties. I'm giving you a direct order Hunter….find a wife before the end of the year or I'll go AWOL on your ass and you can find a new back seater to put up with your tight ass."

Dan poked Mitch again and snorted. "And fucken smile damn it…no one can tell what mood you're in because you seldom smile wide enough to notice." When Mitch didn't smile, Dan put his thumbs to Mitch's mouth…"Come on…..smile…smile….."

"Tweety? I'll beat your ass." Mitch warned.

"Come on…give us a big smile." Dan continued.

"Damn it punk!" Mitch snatched Dan by the shoulders, threw him around on his feet and put him in a head lock…"What you gonna do now wise ass?! Huh? Say uncle mother…"

Dan gave a swift back kick and nailed Mitch right in the balls! "Kabam mother fucker!" Dan yelped as he jumped back. "You're not very good at protecting your…..oh shit!"

Mitch leaped at Dan and tackled him to the steel deck! "I'm going to wrap your ass like a pretzel you stupid bastard!" He snorted as an in prompt wrestling match ensued and Sailors dove to get out of the way of the brawling!

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!" Came a sudden scream of rage. "GET THE FUCK UP YOU DUMB BASTARDS!"

Mitch and Dan came face to face with Commander John Cobretti…the ship's Air Boss, God of the flight deck (Well…..in Air Boss's mind anyway) "What squadron are you two morons from? Answer me you silly dumb fucks before I throw you overboard!"

Mitch blurted out…"VF-151 Sir."

"I'm calling your Skipper." The Air Boss snarled. "No one….no one does wrestling on my God damned Vulture's Row! I'll have you two silly mother fuckers confined to your staterooms for the in port in P.I.; You God damn watch! Now get out here!"

Mitch and Dan smartly vanished. "Perhaps this would be an opportunity to visit the Blue Shirt locker and see how they do things?" Mitch said. "And are you wearing steel toe boots?"

Dan snickered back.

"God damn it Tweety…you could have ruptured my ball sack." Mitch snapped.

"Not like you get any mileage out of it as of late there Pop."

 **12:48 pm**

 **USS Midway**

" **Blue Shirt Locker"**

The Blue Shirts were the undesignated members of the ship's Air Department who handled the shuttling and tying down of aircraft as they were sitting on the flight and hanger decks. Mitch walked through the door and saw the first class petty officer sitting behind a desk while other blue shirts were popping in and out to get tie down chains or tools.

"Afternoon Sir." The First Class said. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Lieutenant Hunter from 151. I'm the "Divo" (Division Officer) for 151 Line. I'd like to know the blue shirt who was saved by the man who was killed this morning."

The first class pointed to the back of the shop. "Airman Callow…I've given him light duty here Sir…uh….the Chaplain was here an hour ago."

Mitch walked up to Callow…"I'd like to speak to you in private Airman Callow."

Both Callow and Mitch walked out of the shop and out onto one of the ship's sponsons (The sponson is a platform on the side of the ship's hull) "What's your first name Sailor?"

"Thomas Sir…" The young man replied weakly. Mitch could tell he was upset.

"Where you from Son?" Mitch patted a ballard (ballards are used to tie ship's mooring lines) and gestured Callow to sit.

"From….Memphis Tennessee." The young man looked like he wanted to cry.

"Tom…if I can call you that….if you want to let it out Son? You let it out. You're not a man or a human being if you can't show emotions. It must be ripping you up."

Callow wiped his eyes…"I was dead meat Sir…I never seen anyone die like that."

"I know…" Mitch looked for words. "You gotta get it all out Son and buck up. The man who saved you was one of my best Sailors and it would tear me up if the man he saved didn't let his death mean something. I'm going to write him up for a Navy Cross and your character statement would be a big help but what's more important is that you make good on the gift you got."

Mitch shook the shivering airman's shoulders. "That means you make your life worth something Son. You need someone to talk to? You need guidance? Don't be afraid to ask me. I mean it."

Callow wiped his eyes and nodded. "I sure appreciate that Sir." The young man then saw Mitch's name tag. "Holy shit….are you that big ace? Mitch Hunter?"

"Well….I don't go seeking publicity." Mitch replied.

"Oh Sir…I would be so honored if you'd sign my flight deck cranial. I never met a real ace before…well, my paw once took me to meet Pappy Boyington in Memphis when I was like 5 but I never got to…"

Mitch threw up a hand. "Ok Tom, I'll sign your cranial. Now you understand me right? You fail me and I'll come after you."

"No way I want your big fists comin down on my head Sir." Callow replied. "And Sir? Thanks for coming to talk to me."

"Always shipmate….always here." Mitch replied as he got up to leave. As he started to walk through the hanger bay, the sound of a boatswain's whistle over the ship's communications system went off…

"Now hear this….now hear this….the Captain will address ship's company in five minutes on important news which has just been relayed over the radio. Stand by."

 **12:48pm**

 **Hap Bien Airfield, North Vietnam**

"An undignified return for a hero of the people." The ox cart driver said as he looked back in the wagon to see Dinh lying on his back.

"I'll replace my MIG with your Ox cart and fight the Americans with it." Dinh said as he sat up. "Then again…I don't know where I could paint all my kill stars."

"I am so honored to have you riding in my cart comrade Dinh." The farmer replied. "Probably the biggest honor in my life besides my daughter. Perhaps you'd like to meet her?"

Dinh smiled. "Comrade Yoi, please….I am not…." Dinh froze when the farmer showed him a picture of his daughter. "Trust me…do not let the visage of the passive flower cloud your mind, my daughter is no push over."

"She is…..uh…stunning." Dinh said as he quickly gave the picture back as if further staring would be an insult. "Forgive me…"

"For what?" The man replied. "She practically fawns over you….well….uh…..I will say that pictures and magazines of you don't go un-wrinkled from fierce hugs."

Dinh scratched his hair. "What is her name?"

"Li nah" The man replied.

"Li nah? An unusual Vietnamese name." Dinh said. "She is half Chinese then?"

"You are displeased?" The farmer asked.

"Oh! No!...No….not….at all….forgive me if you took offense." Dinh hummed. "I would very much like to meet her….yes."

"Then if you can? Come tomorrow and I will have her cook for you." The Farmer said smiling. "Here is the main gate."

Dinh got off the Ox cart, grabbed his pilot bag and shook the farmer's hand. "I will have someone drive me out to the house tomorrow. Thank you for your graciousness Comrade."

"My pleasure young man." The farmer said simply as he road off. Dinh waved and walked to the gate of the airbase to find the single guard sitting in a chair with his head down. Dinh though the guy was sleeping…

"YOU! GUARD! ON YOUR DAMN FEET!" Dinh snapped. "What is the meaning of this? Who is your superior? Look at me damn it!"

The young man had tears streaming down his face. "Why are you crying?" Dinh asked.

"I'm sorry Sir…the light of our life has gone out…..what will become of us now?" The young man crumpled to his knees…"We are doomed without him!"

Dinh bent down. "What the hell are you crying about?"

"Have you not heard?!" The young man replied. "Beloved Uncle has died!"

"Uncle?" Dinh thought for a moment then realized who "Uncle" was…."President Ho?"

"Yes!" The guard cried out…."Our beloved father Ho Chi Minh has died!"

Dinh dropped his flight bag…."No….oh no….." He realized the enormity of the ramifications, the people who would possibly replace Ho Chi Minh and in an instant a rage built up inside him. Snatching his bag, Dinh ran for his squadron compound and barged through the door of the political commissar's office.

"What the?...Oh…..Comrade Dinh….I am glad to see you back unharmed." The man said weakly…he too had been tired by tears. "Sit….obviously you…..you heard?"

Dinh grabbed a chair. "When? What happened? How did Uncle die?"

"The weight of the war killed him…he died while taking a nap. Uncle Ho was never a very robust person as you know….he was so tired…"

Dinh shook his head. "What….what will happen to us now? Who will replace Uncle Ho?"

"Minister Dac Tau." The Commissar replied.

Dinh flew off…."That Russian prostitute?! That Moscowvite cock sucker?!"

"Comrade Dinh please? I've had a stressful enough day…"

"Commissar! He is a Russian whore, a filthy foreigner loving bastard who will open the flood gates to every mongoloid Slavic scumbag! We'll kick out the Americans only to be whores to the fucken Russians! You know this is true!"

"You think I'm happy!" The Commissar screamed. "Do you think I welcome that?! Damn it, Uncle was so close, so close to victory even with our failed spring offensive. Do you think I want this damn war to go on any longer? I haven't seen my wife and children for seven years!"

The two men sat silently for a moment…"Dinh? I have thought about your proposal for a while, bucking the authority of the central committee in Hanoi and their so called "hand picked" experts? I have been too afraid to even consider going against their leadership…you know how the party works don't you? It's like trying to breathe through a grass reed….Can you train our pilots well enough in enough time to act should this "pause" fail? I feel that this time if Hanoi rejects Washington's proposals….all hell is going to be unleashed on our nation. We may become so weak that Moscow would easily slip in to fill the void."

Dinh nodded. "I need a few days to visit family if possible. I could probably train 50 percent of the squadron up to my level in two months…maybe three?"

The Commissar sighed…"That would have to be enough. Hopefully our air defenses will be sufficiently re-stocked should things really go to hell. Let's….not speak about any of this."

"Of course." Dinh replied as he stood up.

"And Dinh?" The Commissar asked. "I never thought you were the son of a foreign slut. You are true Vietnamese…we are fortunate to have you."

"Thank you Comrad Commissar."

 **7 pm**

 **USS Midway**

 **VF-151 Line Shack**

Mitch walked into the small compartment where both the night and day shift crews were packed in like sardines. Some sat on the floor, some sat on the only bench that stretched along one wall, others stood stooped behind the Leading Petty Officers desk among all their tools, equipment and gear. It didn't leave Mitch but a small space in one corner to stand and he too had to stoop over to fit with his big frame.

Looking at each man as he scanned over them, it was obvious some were upset at what happened to Scooby, others not so much probably because they had not been in the Line Shack that long or they worked the opposing shift and just didn't rub elbows enough.

"How's everyone tonight?" Mitch asked. He got the usual nods and "just fines" back. "I'm sure you've all heard that Ho Chi Minh died a few hours ago for what that might be worth in the scheme of things. Personally knowing the North Vietnamese, they'll cry for about five minutes then go back to fighting. But I'm not here to talk about Uncle Ho."

"We have a bombing pause coming up and our last line period for this cruise is ending. The plan right now is for a two day visit to Da Nang then we'll go over to Subic for a three day in port visit and then home to Japan. I think we should all hope for a breakthrough and the war ends."

"I just want to say that as your DIVO? I can't be more pleased at every brown shirt in here. You guys bust your ass, mind your personal Q's and you get along….that's important. You all have to get along and watch each other's back regardless of where you come from or how you came to be here. Line Shack is family and for us pilots to do our job right, you need to do yours and take care of each other."

Mitch paused. "And now about….Scooby." Mitch paused again. "I miss him guys…I know, big Lieutenant Hunter, combat ace missing some guy like Scooby." Mitch paused again. "Yeah, I'm a softie ok? If any of you feel like crying and you're holding it? You're not human so….so go ahead and cry for Scooby, you're no less a man."

Some of the Sailors did let it go. Mitch continued…"I talked to the Blue Shirt Scooby saved. I told him…you got a second chance at life and you owe big time…make something of yourself so Scooby didn't die for nothing. I think most of us ask…"Why him? How can you die out at sea off Vietnam and you're not even in combat." Here's my answer….USS Oriskany (1967 fire), USS Forestall (1967 fire), USS Enterprise (1969 fire)…death can get you just as easy here as it can in the bush or over Haiphong. That's why I stress that you all need to be family tight and take care of each other. We lost Scooby, I don't want anyone else to die when we're so close to the end of this fucked up war."

"I'm going to put Scooby in for a posthumous promotion and the Navy Cross, your character statements will help a lot. I'm also writing to his parents back home so if you want your own letters included? Come see me, I'm sure his folks would love every one of you. When we get to the P.I., We'll hold a real memorial service for him and send him off in good form. Till then gentlemen? You take care of each other….and let's get the hell home."

 **Narration:** The ordered bombing pause of 22 May 1972 by U.S. President Richard Nixon ends Operation Linebacker I. The USS Midway departs Yankee Station off North Vietnam for a two day in port and supply visit to the U.S. Navy base at Da Nang in South Vietnam. Mitch Hunter and Dan Fokker have the first of the two day inport visit standing watches and carrying out their duties aboard the ship. By the next day, both of them are out on the town in Da Nang at their favorite hang out called "Slushy Cindy's" bar and grill in Da Nang's red light district. Meanwhile; US secretary of state Henry Kissenger and his North Vietnamese counterpart meet in Paris to attempt a negotiated end to the nearly decade long war in Southeast Asia.

 **Slushy Cindy's Bar and Grill**

 **Da Nang, South Vietnam**

 **6pm**

The Vietnamese band played Herman's Hermits "Can't you hear my heart beat" with pretty good rhythm. Dan thought the whole country of South Vietnam was in some sort of continuous orgy of partying amidst the war and constant attacks by the Vietcong, a macabre fatalism had taken hold in Da Nang akin to the Pompeiians watching the Gladiatorial games and over-eating the grapes as Mount Vesuvius started smoking.

Mitch could care less as he was diving his teeth into a big steak dinner while a bikini class South Vietnamese cutie came up with a platter full of beers. "Mitchel? You promised you'd find me someone nice?" The girl asked Mitch. "Is this him?"

"Sorry Aun Ling." Mitch replied. "Dan here is married." He then pointed around the table to the other officers. "These two? That's Michael O'Bannion or "Dino" and that one is Kelly "fryer" Faggan…they're single."

"Hey!" Kelly snorted. "Don't try wife fixing on me Mitch!"

"Kelly? Aun Ling here went to Clemson and she's North Vietnam's top spy but she's become disillusioned with the Communist lifestyle." Mitched leaned over. "She heard we have bigger dicks."

Aun Ling slapped Mitch off the head. "Fuck you Hunter! He tried to show me he had good business….but he's way to flaccid."

Dan shot beer out of his nose! "Oh damn! Cough, Cough….you made me spill my beer!"

"No really Kelly." Mitch said. "Aun's no whore, she only came back home to take care of her sick mother. He father works at the South Vietnamese intelligence listening post on base here in Da Nang. She's really a smart and sweet girl."

"Well if you make the recommendation Mitch, I guess you wouldn't steer me wrong."

Dan snickered. "He doesn't know about you women Pop."

"You open your trap Dan and so help me I will fuck you up." Mitch snapped back. "Don't ruin my dinner."

Dino took a swig of his beer. "So what's the prospects for peace? I hear Kissinger is trying to marry his daughter off to Mao Tse Tong."

"Yeah…as a white slave." Dan snorted. "I have no faith in those D.C. ass holes, Nixon's no better than LBJ."

"It's not our place to argue the politics of the whole damned mess. So long as there's one Marine slogging hi way through the crap of Vietnam; we're going to be here. The North Vietnamese are doing the same thing."

Mitch noted than Aun Ling was sitting next to Kelly. "Told you she'd interest you Kelly."

"I don't get it? Why are you here instead of America with a good job?" Kelly asked Aun.

"Family attachment is strong in our culture." Aun replied. "Unlike what I saw in America with old people being thrown into nursing homes. There's much to admire about America and not much to like. Everyone in America has too much stuff, here in Vietnam you give a child a torn up t-shirt and he thinks it came from God. I took sociology in Clemson."

"Dino" pointed around the table. "So….if peace does break out? Who's staying in the Navy? I got enough experience to fly for Pan Am so I'm thinking of getting out when the war ends. You guys?"

Dan pursed his lips. "I'm staying. It provides my family with a stable life. I'm hoping to get posted to Corpus as an instructor."

Mitch drank his beer and leaned back in his chair…"Dunno yet. I've had thoughts of going into crop dusting like my old man and grandfather did after the war but I'm worried the old family farms in America won't last another ten years with these big factory corporation farms sprouting all over the damned place."

"Pop? Why not Top Gun? Get posted there for a four-year tour as a combat instructor?"

Mitch pursed his lips. "I might consider it."

Dan stood up. "You've forced me to do this Pop. I asked the Skipper personally that I could do this to you and skip all the public fanfare." Dan coughed. "Lieutenant Mitchell Hunter? For meritorious conduct, outstanding service and just all around bad assery….the Secretary of the Navy and the President of the United States present to you your silver oak clusters denoting your advancement from Lieutenant of the United States Navy to Lieutenant Commander of the United States Navy. Given to you this date of our Lord by your loyal back seat driver with all joy."

Dan gave Mitch his oak leaf clusters and clapped. "Here here El Cadar!"

"El Cid!" Dino said as he stood up and saluted. "Oh Captain my Captain !"

Dan turned to the rest of the patrons in the room. "Everyone congratulate Lieutenant Commander Mitchell Hunter! The biggest bad ass of the skies above North Vietnam!"

"Here here!" The officers replied as they stood up to cheer and raise their glasses.

Mitch sat silently for a moment before he stood up. "Thanks Dan…thanks to all my fellow pilots….I'm not one for big speeches…just to say that this wouldn't be possible without my old man and my Grandfather, God rest his soul. But I'll gladly trade them if that would end this dumb war and get all of our guys out of the Hanoi Hilton and get the last one of our ground pounders on a plane home…

Mitch smirked. "Too bad LBJ is dead…I'd trade these just to kick that Texas cocksuckers ass into the Rio Grande for this fucked up war."

Dan looked at his watch. "We better go ahead and get back to the ship Mitch, we have to be back on at 1am for sail out."

Mitch nodded. "Gentlemen? Enjoy the night. We're heading for Subic tomorrow morning and hopefully we won't come back."

Mitch and Dan left the "Slushy Cindy" and walked down the side street it sat upon towards Debuche (De Book) street which was the "main drag" of the red light district that led to the front gate of Da Nang air base. Dan looked at Mitch…"So does making "El Cadar" change your thinking about leaving after the war?"

"I dunno." Mitch replied. "I guess it would depend on my next assignment. You realize that we might split up upon rotation?"

"It's been in my mind." Dan replied. "I'd hate the thought…you've grown on me Mitch… well in some ways you've corrupted me. I find it amazing I haven't been reduced in rank or completely busted given all the crazy shit we've done."

"Yup." Mitch replied. "You can't say our tour together was ever boring there Tweety."

Suddenly a screaming high pitched voice in Vietnamese came from behind. "YOU STOP NOW MOTHER FUCKERS!"

Dan turned his head to see a Vietnamese man armed with a 45 caliber hand gun in a combat stance…"GET INTO THE ALLEY NOW AMERICAN FUCKERS! MOVE OR I KILL YOU!"

"HOLY SHIT!" Dan snapped! Mitch turned around and almost jumped the guy had Dan not snatched him.

"Don't be a hero you dumb fuck." The Vietnamese snorted. "Move now! Hands up!"

Dan and Mitch raised their hands and walked into a side alley with the Vietnamese man close behind them…

"Look dude!" Dan snapped. "We don't want any trouble man! I got a wife and kid! You want my wallet? My watch?" Dan fumbled for his pockets and wrist and handed the small Vietnamese his watch…"Here! It's a Bolivar….big dollars on the black market…"

The Vietnamese looked at the watch and snorted. "Damn it, I don't want your fucking watch!"

For a moment they stood just looking at each other until the Vietnamese gave a broad smile…"Hello there Hallywood."

Mitch's eyes popped…."What the…fuck?...Dinh?"

"Surrrrrrprise mother fuckers." Dinh said. "Finally we meet face to face."

Mitch looked around the alley…" Dinh? What the fuck are you doing in South Vietnam?!"

"Visiting Grandmother on father's side." Dinh replied. "What? Just because there's a war you think I can't visit my Grandmother? What kind of guy you take me for? Heartless bastard?"

Mitch snorted. "Do you know what the hell will happen to you if you get caught by the South Vietnamese police? How the hell did you know how to find us anyway?"

Dinh whipped out a Life magazine from his back pocket. "You sure are lazy with your security Mitch…do you know how much you are worth in North Vietnam? 50,000 US dollars! For someone like me? I'd be richest man in province."

Mitch snorted. "Then shoot you smart ass."

Dan snapped. "Damn Pop! Dinh let me go man please? I'm begging you."

Dinh snickered at Dan. "Who's this?"

"My back seater Tweety." Mitch replied.

"Oh?..." Dinh chuckled. "You're fucker!"

"That's Fokker man…"Foe-ker"."

"What ever you say…fucker." Dinh laughed. "Sit down both of you. And put your hands down? You two look stupid."

"So what's the plan Dinh? Turn us over to the Viet Cong?" Mitch asked.

Dinh found a place to sit…"Nah….to simple. It would ruin my fun. You are the best challenge in my life Mitch…I like you. That's why I find you out, because I respect you."

Dan snorted. "Respect? Man….you've shot down our friends! You've killed some of our pilots! Respect?!"

Dinh snorted. "How many Vietnamese have you killed? How many of my friends have you shot down? How many of my people have died from your bombs? We are equal! Equally guilty and equally stupid!"

"Stupid?" Mitch asked.

"Yeah…stupid." Dinh snorted. "Fucking war….fucken stupid. Why are you here Mitch? Why did America come here? Were you afraid that Vietnamese fishing junks would invade Seattle or San Diego? That would be hilarious…Vietnamese junks storming Baha? I couldn't stop laughing. Why the hell did America have to come here?"

Dan snorted. "Because of Communism. Because China's here, the Soviet Union's here or are those SAMs you fire at us made in a North Vietnamese bike shop?"

"Oh to hell with Communism!" Dinh snorted. "Do you think every rice farmer in Vietnam cares about Communism? No…all we care about is driving all the filthy foreigners from our land, ending hundreds of years of foreign colonialism and having Vietnam for us Vietnamese. We asked you Americans for help a long time ago and what did you do? You shafted us!"

"But Ho Chi Minh was a Communist." Mitch snapped.

"And Madam Nu and the filthy Diem brothers were supported by the French Colonialists and America…so fucking what Mitch? Don't you see? Are you so blind? We poor Vietnamese are like mice chucked into a room of elephants fighting over peanut bags and who is getting stomped? My people!"

Dinh stood up and pounded his chest. "Do you think I like flying and killing? Do you think I enjoy shooting at people? Do you? Tell me the truth Mitch? This war fucking sucks! I'd rather fly for Pan Am airlines or better yet be big stunt pilot, be bigger Hollywood star than Bruce Lee but no….oh no….I have to fly and kill for my country in a big stupid war because some dumb bastards want to use my country as a stomping ground for their small dicks!"

Dan couldn't help it, he started laughing….

"What's so funny FUCKER?!"

"Look….I'm sorry…just the mental image of the elephants…."

Mitch elbowed Dan. "Do you mind not getting us shot! Look Dinh, do you think we like this war? We're no different than you, we'd rather not be here but we all here because we're trying to look out for our friends and there's nothing any of us can do about it because we're not the one's in charge of this mess."

"But you're the one's fighting to "Rid Asia of Red Communism and stop the spread of the evil red dragon." Do you really think we Vietnamese want to invade Burma or Thailand or Laos or Cambodia or India or Hallywood? No….we want to be left alone. We want our country for ourselves so we can make our own fuck ups, our own movies, our own cheep lawn chairs, our own cars….not that Ford or Chryslers suck but if you drive on Vietnamese roads well….you kinda want a tank."

Dinh sighed. "I'm not going to give you to the Viet Cong and I'm not going to shoot you. All I ask is that you go home. Tell your stupid fucking leaders that this war is bull shit and go home and leave us Vietnamese to ourselves. Just go home Mitch."

"The choice is out of our hands Dinh." Mitch replied. For a moment he thought he had a chance and quickly snatched the gun right out of Dinh's hand! "Hah! Look who's on the other side of the gun now!"

Dinh smiled and drew another gun from behind his back…

"Shoot damn it!" Dan snapped at Mitch but when Mitch pulled the trigger? Nothing happened.

"Did you think I was stupid or something?" Dinh snickered. "This one though is quite loaded."

Mitch shook his head, flipped the pistol around and gave it back to Dinh. "You knew I would try."

"I'd do the same thing." Dinh replied. "Anyway…it was good that you and I meet Mitch, I really respect you. You know? If our leaders grow some brains and end the war? Maybe I come to America? Maybe we go into business together? Maybe we fly together instead of trying to kill each other?"

Mitch and Dan stood up. "I might entertain the possibility….once I get out of the Navy. You're not half bad yourself Dinh."

Dinh waved his gun. "Now give me your fucking money…we must keep up appearances you know…give me like five minute head start."

Mitch slapped a fifty dollar bill into Dinh's hand. "There….you extortionist prick. Now get out of here before you get caught and buy your grandmother some flowers."

Dinh smiled wide then ran off. Dan stood dumb founded…"We have to report this to the Naval Investigative Service you know? Contact with the enemy?"

Mitch snorted. "I'm not saying shit to those zuit suit wearing, Mickey Mouse, rent a cop dumb fucks." He glared at Dan. "And don't you say anything Tweety."

As they walked back to the main gate of Da Nang air base, Dan looked back over his shoulder. "Would you really go into business with that punk?"

"It's actually not a bad thought." Mitch replied. "With his skills? Maybe I'll open an air circus or something like that one of these days."

 _ **CHAPTER 6**_

 **USS Midway**

 **May 25, 1972**

 **En-route to Subic Bay, Philippines**

Dear Mister and Mrs Lang…

By now you have received news from the Department of the Navy that your son Scott was killed while performing his duties aboard USS Midway. As his Division Officer, and the pilot of the aircraft he maintained…the loss is deeply shared. He was…..a hard-working, friendly and dedicated Sailor who's fellow shipmates miss very much…

Mitch backed away from his desk and sat for a moment looking at the letter he was trying to write, probably one of many now being written by some grunt's platoon commander in Kon Toon or a sergeant some place atop some hill with a number on a map. In World War II it might have been eaiser…."Dear Sir…your son died killing a bunch of Germans." At least the letters were backed by a clear reasoning for the loss. Scooby didn't die in combat, he died in an accident…unintended, unexpected and yet why and for what? What were people dying for in Vietnam? Dinh's complaints weren't borne from some Communist propaganda booklet, you couldn't fake the emotions that flowed forth from that guy even with good coaching. And he was being honest…The Vietnamese were fighting the Chinese long before anyone else. Mitch dug out a book from the library on Vietnamese history and read where former Chinese Generalissimo Chang Kai Chek refused to accept Vietnam as offered territory after World War II. "They can never be assimilated!" Chang argued.

So what exactly would he say to Scooby's parents? How do you ease the heartbreak of losing your son in a non-combat situation in a state of war which most of the public was calling utter bullshit? He looked at what he wrote, grabbed it, tore it up and started again…

Dear Mister and Mrs Lang…

By now you have received news from the Department of the Navy that your son Scott was killed while performing his duties aboard USS Midway. I am having great difficulty finding the words to explain to you a meaning that will lessen for you the bereavement which you must now be bearing. As your son's division officer and the pilot of the plane he took care of with such enthusiasm and devotion, I too am deeply crushed at his passing. Your son saved a man's life, what else could better describe such a good man as he was. We all called him "Scooby" because I don't know a Sailor, Chief or Officer who in some way did not enjoy the company of his warm heart or his vibrant spirit. He is missed and I am sure that the letters you will find along with this one are a testimony to what a great son you had. He will always be in my mind as are the many friends and Sailors I have known who had perished during this long conflict in Southeast Asia. Our prayers are with you.

Signed

Lieutenant Commander Mitchel Hunter

United States Navy Fighter Squadron 151.

Mitch read and re-read the letter a few times before he was comfortable enough to slip it into an envelope along with those written by the Line Shack. Setting the letter in the corner of his desk, Mitch sat silently for a moment before he was interrupted by Lieutenant Gary Neusome, a class mate from the Academy now assigned to Midway's "Red Rockers" fighter squadron 161.

"Congrats you big prick." Neusome said as he pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from his flight bag and two cokes. "Care to celebrate a little there….Lieutenant Commander?"

"How did you find out?" Mitch asked as Neusome poured a little "JD" into a can of Coke.

"Duh….they do send messages to everybody Mitch." Neusome looked around the room. "Any place I can put my feet up?"

Mitch threw a towel onto his rack. "There…help yourself. So how's everything going? Glad you survived Linebacker."

"How about survived being board? I spent the whole Operation doing doughnuts over the ship, not one damn mission North or anywhere else in the South. At least you got to see action Mitch."

Mitch took a swig of the Coke…"I think your parents would be thankful that their son didn't end up in the Hanoi Hilton. Especially at the hands of that ace pilot. Just as well…who else needs to die before peace. " Mitch pointed to the envelope on his desk. "A letter to the parents on one of my plane captains….took me three hours to get it right. I hate writing them, I hate the damned war, I hate the ass holes in charge of the damn war…"

Gary took a swig himself. "As I remember back in the academy, you were gun ho about giving it to the Communists. Stopping the Russians before they marched on Berlin or the Chinks before they teamed up with the North Koreans and took over Asia.

"Did you know that the Vietnamese have fought the Chinese for over a thousand years?" Mitch asked. "Ever heard of the Trung sisters?"

"What's that some 60's rock band?" Gary asked.

"Shows your level of education Gary. Maybe if you spent more time learning about the people you fight against? Perhaps you'd have a better understanding of why this whole adventure of ours has been a real cluster fuck. The Trung sisters are remembered by every Vietnamese because they fought the Chinese Han Dinasty, two girls led the whole of Vietnam against the Chinese and set off a wave of rebellion the Chinese emperors could not stop. North….South… Commies or bankrupt capitalists…the true Vietnamese only cares about one thing Gary. "This is my land you foreign cock sucker and eventually? You're going to get booted out on your ass… your bloody ass. I think these people would finish with us and turn on their allies the second after because they're taking up real estate. A thousand years of Vietnamese history and there's not a single point where the Vietnamese expanded outside the land they call home. These people have never threatened the United States; why the hell are we over here blowing them to hell?"

Gary took another swig. "So now what? You going to grow your hair long and be one of those screaming hippies?"

"No." Mitch replied. "I think we're about to see the end of the whole damn thing. I can't see the North Vietnamese or our own leaders wanting to let this thing go on another month. Nixon will continue to "Vietnamize" the South and get our grunts out and the North will push a negotiated settlement. Eventually we'll leave and then eventually the South will destroy itself and the North will swoop in and take it all…it's all mathematically certain. Or has that escaped you too?"

"I never thought I'd hear this coming from you Mitch." Gary said as he swished his Coke around. "So was World War II the wrong thing to do?"

"Don't twist it Gary." Mitch snorted. "There was clarity in World War II, here we just have a crazy mess dependent on some "Domino theory" which can't hold up to the real evidence. All the Vietnamese will be is an indirect influence on regional communists, there's no clear concrete evidence that the North Vietnamese are going to invade Thailand, Burma or anywhere else. Hell the whole Tonkin Gulf incident was a classic cluster screw up. I just hope they don't blow the negotiations and put an end to this mess."

 **Hap Bien Airfield**

 **May 25, 1972**

The pilots gathered in a coregated building covered with brush and netting, some eating the afternoon meal of fish and rice while others sipped glasses of watered down Russian Vodka. Dinh walked in with Tan behind him and while Dinh got respectful looks, Tan got looks of jealously…especially from more senior pilots, one waved a baby pacifier as Tan walked by.

"Jerk." Tan snorted.

"Tan? Expect a little ribbing now and then." Dinh said as he took his place at the front of the assembled pilots. "Good afternoon Comrades…I'm sure everyone knows me by now?"

One pilot raised his hand. "Forgive my ignorance Comrade….I…..don't."

The poor young pilot got slapped with hats off his head.

"Ok…..ok….stop killing the poor guy." Dinh asked. "You're serious? You don't know who I am?"

"No…." The man replied. "I'm from the mountain regions, we don't even have radios."

Another Vietnamese pilot joshed. "They communicate by messenger fish."

Dinh chuckled. "Ok….you are forgiven for your simple ways Comrade. I'll just say that I am here to teach all of you in the ways of air combat. I have had great success against the Americans."

That remark brought a chuckle. "I am here to break some tired old training methods because to be honest yet respectful? They suck. Glorious anthems, pompous party statements and bombastic odes to the glorious state have not translated into success…perhaps some of you are aware of this but most of you are choking on Socialist smoke which makes you blind as bats. I'm here to save your lives while taking as many Americans lives as possible so that….hopefully… we can get them,The white Euro-pee-ons, the Mongoloid Russians and the filthy Chinks out of our beloved Vietnam so no more of our people fill the graves that are getting far more real estate than our poor parents."

Dinh looked around. "If any of you do not share my view? You can walk out right now." He pointed to the door but not one man left.

"Very well." Dinh said putting his hands behind his back. "First things first Comrades….the Russian planes we fly? They suck. They are pathetic flying bricks of Ox crap."

One pilot was shocked. "Uh….Comrade Dinh? That might be a little harsh…"

"They SUCK! If any of you can't figure out that the MIG-17 is a piece of shit because it's built by low grade intelligence Mongrel Slavic Russian filth then you shouldn't be flying. They suck at high speed turns, the controls take too much muscle strength to handle, they have lousy missiles…..they…fucken…suck and they….are killing our pilots!"

No one denied those facts. "So….how do we match up to the Americans?" One pilot asked. "How is that most of us are doing so poorly and yet you're beating the brains out of the Americans?"

Dinh smirked. "Well…we're going to start by…..going to the local junkyards. Half of this room will visit the towns and hamlets around the base and the other half will go up to Hanoi. Tan? Will you please give our comrades the drawings I have made?"

Tan distributed the drawings and the pilots gave confused looks. "Uh? Comrade? What exactly are we looking for?"

"Parts from downed American planes, specifically F-4 Phantoms and A-6 Intruders. Don't tell people you're looking to bring them back to base? Just say you want a nice souvenir for your parents or that hot girlfriend of yours….or….in the case of Tao Yu here?...his Ox."

"Oh fuck you Comrade!" The man snapped back, getting a laugh from the rest.

"Just bring the parts back here and we will proceed from that." Dinh said smiling. "Oh and please don't take your time, we don't have it."

 **Subic Bay Naval Base, Philippines**

 **Cindy's Bar in Olongapo**

 **May 28, 1972**

The three black girls on the stage with their Philippino band were jamming out a string of Motown hits, the current being Margret and the Vandellas "No where to run too.", as the squadron party hit full steam. The white banner above the stage read "WELCOME VF-151 in big bold red letters and under them "In memory of our shipmate Scooby."

Some of the Sailors were hanging with the local "guest minders, ladies of the evening…Little Brown Pleasure Machines. Here was where being an officer or a chief or a petty officer or a newbie Sailor mattered nothing when it came to one man to another…beer, inebriation and the desire to get paid, get laid and get drunk was the popullar thinking of the moment.

Mitch was sitting with the Line Chief and some of the Plane Captains amidst a forest of San Miguel tall boys with Dan sticking to the watered down soda the bar shoveled at the same prices as beer…

Mitch raised his beer…"Here's to Scooby."

The others followed. "To Scooby!"

Everyone clanked their bottles and glasses together and drank their toast. "And this is all about Scooby." Mitch said half sloshed…."Not about me."

Dan wrapped an arm around Mitch's broad shoulders…"Pop's never thinks of himself guys. Here's to Pop Hunter….the baddest mother fucking Phantom pilot in the US Navy."

Everyone clicked their glasses and bottles…."To soft hearted big bad ass mother fucker Pop."

"Damn it Tweety…" Mitch slurred. "I said….this is for Scooby. Fffffuck this stupid war."

Dan took the beer from Mitch…"Ok…you've had enough."

Mitch leaned forwards and smiled at the others around the table…"You know….I…..I love every one of you guys…Biggie….Augie….Creepers…Chief….You're all close to my heart! I hope I have kids like you guys….I'll be the proudest father in the world."

Mitch wrapped his arm around Dan…"I…..specially love you Tweet….You should see his kid. One day his kid is gonna be a pilot, hell…..he's a bonified lady killer."

"Mitch?" Dan said. "You're getting silly."

"Can't take the truth Tweety? His wife is smoking hawt." Mitch leaned into Dan. "So…..what are we gonna do about that wise ass North Vietnamese pilot Dan? Maybe we should go into business with him?"

The Chief tilted his head. "What are you talking about Sir?"

Mitch smiled…"It's that crazy Vietnamese ace….I wanna hire him…smart ass little shit."

Dan quickly pulled on Mitch…"What Pop means….is that their top ace is good enough to fly for our side. Pop? You went to fast on the drinks again so I gotta get you back to the ship."

Mitch snorted. "What the heck are you…..talking about…..I can hold my beer just…..fine." Mitch tried to stand up and fell back into Dan's arms. "Then again…..maybe you're right." He looked at the Sailors around the table…"I…..I love all….you guys. You're all top shit in my book…..every one of you…..I…I love you."

The Line Chief looked up at Dan. "Sir you better get him home."

"Yeeeah…." Dan replied. "Come on Pop."

Dan wrapped an arm around Mitch's shoulder. "Better get you out of here before you really open your mouth."

"I really…really…..love you Tweety. You're a hot shit."

"Ok Pop." Tweety warned. "Just keep your mouth shut till we get on the ship. Don't want anyone knowing we talked to Dinh ok? You have a habit of shooting your trap off when you get sloshed."

Dan took Mitch across the "Shit River" bridge that separated Olongapo from Subic Bay Navy Base, got him through the main gate and stuffed him into a taxi. "Hey driver? USS Midway ok?" Dan looked at Mitch and waved his hand…"Hold on."

Dan got Mitch's head out of the taxi just in time for him to puke. "You ok Mitch?"

"No….I'm drunk you dumb ass." Mitch moaned back.

"Gee Pop…I thought I was a hot shit?" Dan replied smirking as he mashed Mitch's face between his hands like putty.

"Just shut up….get me home." Mitch said….then he passed out.

Minutes later….Mitch and Dan arrived at the Midway as it sat docked at Cubi Point's carrier pier. The struggle for the smaller RIO to get his pilot out of the taxi was hilarious if not embarrassing. "Mitch! You need to keep it together man!" Dan pleaded.

"I…..love you Tweety." Mitch replied moaning.

"Yeah yeah…..same now let's get you past the Quarterdeck?" Dan said as he struggled to get Mitch up the gangway. Half way to the Quarterdeck, Mitch leaned over the rail and puked. "You ok Pop?" Dan asked. Mitch replied with a hand wave. Finally getting to the Quarterdeck aboard the ship, Dan stood Mitch up and fumbled through his pockets for his military ID card. It being early Sunday morning; the Quarterdeck watch was dressed in a crisp dress white uniform with white gloves and his officers sword. Dan smiled at the man as he pulled Mitch's ID out…

Mitch too gave the officer a wide smile…and then…he shot gun puked all over the man.


End file.
